Call Me Home, Stranger Boy
by this is my pseudonym
Summary: The Doctor disappears on Martha & there's a mysterious fellow who claims to be the Doctor. And how does Rose fit into all this? I'm a little mean on Martha, but I was in an I-Hate-Martha stage & needed catharsis. Still, Martha was always a bit petty when it came to Rose so this is my view on how she'd react if Rose came back during Martha's travels. Martha-lovers best not read.


**setting **

season 3 before _The Lazarus Experiment_

**author's notation**

This wasn't supposed to be as long as it turned out but we all know stories like to take on lives of their own. The quotes with the * next to them are lines from the movie _I Capture the Castle_ from the character Cassandra. Also, I was told that humans aren't allowed on Gallifrey, however, I am entirely too tired to rewrite that scene so let's just pretend that since the Doctor's death means the death of the universe, the Council made an exception, or they didn't know Martha was brought there, or they could care less in that point in time, okay? Thanks!

**reasons for this fic**

Some people think this is Martha-bashing and, I will admit, that I was hard on her in this story but I have reasons. One of those reasons was before I wrote this, I had just gotten off watching a few of the episodes and was in a tear about them. Frankly, I had Martha-hate that needed to be assuaged.

This entire fic was basically just catharsis for me.

Second, I apparently see Martha entirely differently than most people do. I see a self-centered and slightly petty woman (though I am warming up to her a little bit, when I can see her in stories where she's not pining for the Doctor). I liked her in Smith and Jones... up until she inexplicably 'falls in love' with a kiss (and it had to have been the kiss, not the Doctor - she never knew the Doctor, not throughout the entire series). I found her love for the Doctor trite and pointless and contrived.

Thirdly, this is how I think it could have actually played out if Rose had come back so soon into Martha's travels with the Doctor because this is Before the Year That Never Was Martha - to me anyway, because I do not see Martha as that compassionate (when it comes to emotions). Even in _Utopia_ she was being petty: "Oh, she's blonde!" in that annoyingly superior tone of hers. I have other issues, such as in _Blink_ (though this was Moffat's dig more so, as Martha couldn't have known what Rose had been, but still), when she whined about being a shop girl to support the Doctor.

I also wanted to write a story that showed that Martha getting her heart broken was not, in fact, the Doctor's fault. I've read quite a few stories where they blamed the Doctor for seemingly 'allowing' Martha to fall in love with him or for ignoring her love or for trying to pretend it doesn't exist and how much of a bastard that made him. I can't for the life of me remember them as I decided not to fave them. So this was my answer to that because the Doctor in fact told her not to even think about it, at the very end of Smith and Jones. So yes, it was hard on Martha but I don't think it was bashing at all. I didn't make her stupid and ok, maybe I didn't need 5 to say she was an insignificant part of his timeline, but I _did_ say this was also a catharsis for me, right?

**~ timp**

* * *

Martha gasped, her breath ripping through her throat violently, and looked around the alley frantically. She knew she'd seen the Doctor come this way, but there was no sign of him. The alley was a dead end; no exits, no doors into either flanking buildings or the one straight ahead, not even a manhole or sewage grate. The warehouses, or so Martha assumed, were too high to be scaled, even if the Doctor had some sort of equipment to do so in those magical pockets of his. He'd, quite simply, disappeared.

Slumping against the grimy wall of one of the edifices, she dropped her head forward, hands gripped onto her knees as she struggled to catch air — and calm her worry. The Doctor had been acting strangely; stranger than usual, in any case, and he'd seemed to ignore her calls as she clambered after him. She couldn't, unfortunately, admit that this was new; the Doctor tended to have selective hearing when it came to Martha, her crush, and anything disparaging about Rose she might mumble under her breath. But he never ignored her when on a foreign planet, with her chasing after him and practically screaming. Something was definitely wrong in Dodge.

Stupid name for a planet, anyway.

Her body jerked at the piercing shrieks that echoed sporadically in the distance, but at the same time right next to her. The fog that had slowly been descending and Martha just now noticed dewed her hair, threw the sounds into grotesque parodies of themselves. She shivered, her long fingers gripping her elbows in an unconsciously protective gesture. It hadn't occurred to her in her panicked flight after the Doctor, but it was dark. Scary, monsters pop up from a loose bag fluttering in the wind, dark.

Tangy scents trembled in the wind as it scurried past her, rustling the unseen bag, mixed with the sick and the waste of the poor and dissolute. Pulling her leather jacket closer about herself and wishing she'd thought to ask the Doctor to stop off at her place for some sturdier clothes, Martha trudged out of the alley, head bent against the wind. It was spooky; the swiftness with which the breeze had turned to gusts, almost perfectly coinciding with Martha's realization that she was alone, in the dark, in —essentially- the ghetto of an alien planet.

Mud squished beneath her boots and Martha tried, with all her might, not to think of what liquid might have made the mud. The abundant, pervading smells were not encouraging. She glanced around, noting the rundown facades and decrepit bodies; bodies she couldn't decide were alive or dead or even if they were better off alive. She suddenly remembered the Doctor's words from that morning, before they'd exited the TARDIS.

"Now, Martha, remember. In Dodge, even the best, most respectable looking places are dangerous. Always keep your wits, and your throat, about you. And whatever you do, do not go into the side streets."

Shivering ever more fiercely, Martha thought acidly that here she was, in the side streets, where the Doctor had led her. If he hadn't wanted her here, why did he tell her to stick to him like Kritchtin leeches on a mugberm, whatever the hell those were? Frustrations overwhelming her good sense and fear, Martha's attention lapsed and she stopped watching where she was going. She had a good head of steam and she fully intended to find the Doctor and let him have it.

Yeah, so she wasn't Saint Rose, but neither had she just up and left the Doctor like Rose had. He had no right treating her like this and she sure as shootin' was going to give that beanpole of an alien all she had and more (bloody hell, she's been on Dodge too long she's starting to talk like the bad western films they'd modeled their planet after).

So full of resentment and an inferiority complex the size of Earth, Martha bubbled and simmered inside, imagining walloping the Doctor a good one atop the head with an iron skillet. Or a ski pole, she hadn't quite decided yet. She rounded the corner, the right corner or not she didn't know nor did she care at the moment; the Doctor'd gone on some secret errand, apparently, and forgot to inform her to keep her nose out of it and here she was, lost in the OK Corral's less fortunate sister.

An immovable object, warm and solid and large, suspended Martha's trajectory and sent her reeling. She'd have fallen into the disgusting muck beneath her feet if a pair of hands hadn't seized her arms tightly, steadying her. Sighing, she was about to look up and thank her rescuer when it suddenly occurred to her where she was.

Terror froze her body, misfortunes flashing through her mind at the speed of light. I'm gonna be raped, they'll kill me and steal my clothes, they'll scalp me, oh my God! Why did I follow the mad man in the blue box, what the hell was I thinking, I'm too young, I haven't even become a fully-fledged doctor yet, they're going to skin my carcass and hang it in their window, I'll be cooked and served as tomorrow's delicacy, I forgot to pay mom back that 20 quid I borrowed, that's going to be a lot of interest by the time they give me up for dead, I've decided I hate you Doctor, find someone else to travel with I quit, wait, no, I'm DEAD!

"- all right, miss?"

The low tone finally clawed its way through her dire thoughts, pulling Martha back into the here and now, the place she needed to be if she wanted to actually survive. Tension radiated up from the small of her back and she belatedly realized that every muscle in her body was rigid with horror. Cognizance back where it belonged, she somehow still could not remember how to move her limbs. At least she could face her attackers with dignity. She girded her loins, sniffed disdainfully while tossing her head, and then raised her gaze to stare in what she hoped was a defiant way.

She blinked.

Her attacker was smiling kindly, his shiny white teeth almost glowing in the dark. His blonde hair gave his teeth a run for their money, shimmering from beneath the light straw and red beribboned hat he wore. It matched his light cream suit perfectly, the cream and red cable knit sweater-vest all but announcing preppy. She decided she wasn't even going to question the rather outlandish presence of a celery lapel pin.

In short, he was about as out of place in this dump as Martha was in the TARDIS.

The shock she suffered from such a shiny creature in such a dank place ripped the blanket that had smothered her brain right off and she was able to gage his smile, a gesture that could never be interpreted as dangerous, she decided. Then the fact that he had spoken penetrated her mind.

"I'm sorry, what?"

A chuckle escaped as the gentleman (for what else could he be) made sure she wouldn't take a tumble and finally released her arms. "I asked if you were all right."

"Oh." She giggled nervously, reaching up to straighten her hair and take in the measure of her surroundings surreptitiously. "I'm fine. Startled is all. Thanks for that." She pointed behind herself, as if that was at all informative, but the gentleman, having been there, knew what she was on about and nodded once.

"Well, make sure you pay more attention in future. Dodge isn't the place to be woolgathering and certainly not in the side streets." His voice had firmed and his mouth had straightened, an obvious admonishment that had Martha flushing like a green girl. She suddenly felt like she was in first form again, being ranted at by her instructor for shoving Maggie O'keefe's face into the fat cow's mashed potatoes at lunch.

"You're incredibly lucky it was I you bumped into and not someone more easily offended and with flexible morals."

She ducked her head, wishing away the burning embarrassment on her face, and nodded. A swift and slightly awkward tap-tap to her shoulder, the squick! of the mud as it sucked in on the man's shoes when he moved, indicated that he was about to leave.

"Yes, well, cheerio."

He took a step past, whistling a jaunty tune, when Martha's hand shot out, fingers digging into his bicep. The man swiveled around quickly, his sharp eyes boring into her in what Martha discerned was a decidedly warning manner. She swiftly dropped her hand and shoved it, fisted, into her jeans pocket.

"Co-could you walk me back to the main bazaar? I don't even know how to get there from here."

The gentleman looked her up and down, appraisingly, at her request. Martha would have been flattered if the look on his face hadn't indicated that he was questioning her intelligence, but really, she couldn't blame him. She'd not been paying attention when she allowed her anger to flood her mind, forgetting every warning the Doctor had given her just that morning.

A sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose and then the stranger nodded. "Very well. We must make it quick. I am on a rather important mission and cannot afford many distractions. Come."

He gestured with his hand behind Martha, from the direction she'd come, and continued to walk rapidly. Martha huffed as she broke into a canter to catch up to and, as it turned out, to keep up with the man. She wasn't sure if it was the combination of his longer legs and his speed that made it hard for her to keep his pace and keep him in sight or if the man had really lost all patience with her and was deliberately trying to lose her.

What was it with men and their temper tantrums?

She wisely kept that thought to herself, as she would have with the Doctor. He, like the Doctor definitely wasn't, didn't seem the type to take a little gentle teasing. She was wheezing by the time the dirty grays and dull browns became brighter, almost circus-like, colors, their dizzying patterns once again making her eyes cross and jitter, when it occurred to her that this man might have seen the Doctor. After all, he was wandering around back there, as well.

Once they set foot onto the blonde hardwood that lined the entire Main Street, the stranger nodded once at her, curtly, and swiveled on his heels, right back toward the underbelly of the planet. There was nothing for it; she couldn't grab him again, so she raised her voice enough to carry to his location and no further.

"You haven't seen a man, blue pinstripe suit, with red converse trainers, wild chestnut hair, calls himself the Doctor, have you?"

The reaction was instantaneous and not something Martha had expected. The stranger's retreating back stopped retreating. The man literally came to a full stop, turned on his heels, and stood toe to toe with her all in one movement. At least, that's what it seemed to Martha. Her mind couldn't process anything more because, once again, her arms were clenched tightly within the man's grasp. This time, though, it was not comforting. Her eyes connected with his, searching frantically, hoping he wasn't some sort of archenemy of the Doctor's, like those dalek things, and calculating how best to use her against the Doctor.

"What do you know of him?"

Martha's eyebrows shot up, her throat closing with uncertainty. Maybe she should just pretend that she'd never known him, like he owed her money or something and that's why she was looking for him. Decision made, she opened her mouth, prepared to spout her falsehood.

"And do not lie to me. I will know."

Martha clamped her mouth, suppressing both her dread and her urge to scoff. Yeah, you and every parent on earth. Except, unlike when her mother had threatened her with it, she truly believed this man would know. She also truly believed that he may seem kind, like her Doctor, but he was capable of so very much more. Why she hadn't deduced that by the fact he'd been wandering the back alleys alone, and undisturbed, she couldn't fathom.

"I've been traveling with him for the past few weeks; three, three weeks!" She hated how her voice came out all wobbly and childlike, but she was starting to realize that she may, in fact, be out of her depth when it came to the Doctor and his universe. It was a disheartening thought. She wondered if Rose would have been as tongue-tied in her position.

But the Doctor would have either told Rose where he was going and to stay in the TARDIS or invited her along, a small, vicious part of herself whispered. Martha did her best to ignore it. That voice got her in trouble with the Doctor more times than she'd care to admit.

The man lessened his grip on Martha's arms while she mentally wrestled with herself, and then he released her fully as his eyes searched her face for… what, she didn't know. She jerked her torso away from the stranger and twitched a bit, straightening her jacket and shaking the blood back into her arms. Manhandled twice by a man and not by the one she'd enjoy it from.

Never by him, that treacherous little voice taunted, once again. She shook it off. Her mind had a distressing habit of thinking of unimportant things in dire circumstances and one day, it'd get her killed. She winced as the memory of the Doctor yelling that exact thing at her as the last time it'd happened flashed past her vision.

"Rose never allowed her thoughts to impede her ability to react to the situation at hand!"

Her mind was, once again, jerked back where it belonged by the impatience in the man's voice when he asked, clearly not for the first time, "What's your name?"

"Martha Jones."

The man nodded and then pulled out a strange device, with blinking blue lights and retro looking knobs, but still somehow sleek and futuristic. He activated it and some sort of script, the same, Martha suddenly realized, eyes popping wide again, that decorated the monitor in the TARDIS, the language the Doctor told her she would never learn, materialized on the screen. A frown creased the man's youthful features, his pale skin squinching up, as he was clearly confounded by whatever information he read. He tapped the device a couple of times, shook it, then looked back at it. Clearly it still displayed the wrong information.

He looked up sharply, eyes intent on hers, as he asked gruffly, "You're entirely certain you're traveling with the Doctor?"

Martha nodded slowly, wondering at such a weird question. "How would I not be sure?"

The man ignored her and mumbled to himself, "You're not in my timeline."

Martha's mouth dropped open to match her eyes, her heart thundering in her ears, as the implication of that statement hit her. She remembered vaguely the Doctor telling her that he hadn't always looked like she knew him to look. She also remembered all the comparisons she'd made between this man and her Doctor. And the fact that she traveled in a time machine.

Her mouth being what it is, she blurted the first thing that came to mind. "What? You're the Doctor?! Ridiculous!" She grimaced and covered her mouth tightly with her hands, ears heating up once again. Despite the time she'd spent traveling with him, she still knew next to nothing about the Doctor and calling him foolish wasn't going to help. If, indeed, this man was the Doctor. She was still completely skeptical. Similarities do not the same man make.

The gentleman's eyes narrowed on her and she thought she saw a bolt of dislike flash across his face, though it was gone in a tick. It could have been a trick of the garish lighting. She expected it when he spoke, tone hard.

"Why did I allow you to tag along, exactly?"

Expected or not, Martha bristled, her claws unsheathing, but before she could tell this not-Doctor to shove it, he whipped out a metal cylindrical tool, definitely a sonic screwdriver, and started waving it about in the air, distinctly showing his lack of interest in her answer. That's how she saw it. It was bizarre and impossible, but she saw her own Doctor in this one, saw his sonic screwdriver, of which she'd never seen possessed by anyone else, and knew. This was he.

It was quite a blow. A stinging slap to the cheek, to find that the past version of the Doctor didn't like her. Not one bit.

A loud sigh fell from the… Doctor's lips as he geared up to speak. "Well, Miss Jones, come along. You clearly have information I need and I'd rather not air my private concerns amongst this rabble." His hand twitched again in that superior way of his, like a king calling his dogs to heel, as he started marching off in the direction of the makeshift space dock.

"It's Doctor, actually." She hadn't sounded petulant; that's her story and she was sticking to it.

The blonde Doctor looked over his shoulder at her, eyebrows quirked disbelievingly: "That remains to be seen."

The jerk didn't even have the decency to insult her to her face; she merely got a lovely view of the side of his head. She conveniently forgot her own disrespectful remark to her Doctor, the first time they met. It wasn't the same after all; she'd actually studied to earn her title. No whimsical appropriation whatsoever.

Beaten down more than once that evening, Martha trudged grudgingly behind the Doctor, revising her opinion somewhat. He was quite different from the one she knew. Oh, there was still that piercing death glare and the way he had with biting words, but there were differences. She wondered how that went.

Mind elsewhere, it was a bit before Martha realized that they were standing in front of the TARDIS. She started and said, "Oh, right. He, you…" She growled to herself in frustration, stumbling over pronouns, and finished with, "The Doctor hasn't given me a key."

A curiously sing-song 'hmmmmHM' flowed from cricket-Doctor, as if some sort of suspicion had been confirmed, before he noted, "It's all right, in any case. This is not the TARDIS from your time. Had you a key," from his tone, Martha surmised she was to understand he doubted she'd get one, "it would not have worked."

He inserted his own key and started to turn it, before pausing and tilting his head thoughtfully. "Very feminine, my TARDIS. Likes to try on new shoes for a time, she does." Peculiar thought completed, he pushed open the door and walked in, calling, "Come on, come on!"

Rolling her eyes, Martha stepped in and blinked. She barely recognized anything like the TARDIS she was used to. It all looked so… sterile and Tron-like. Before she could question it, another voice, Scottish in origin, intoned excitedly, "Oh, guests!"

Jerking in the voice's direction, Martha eyed the new man. He was shorter than the blonde by about a foot, dark hair dappled with gray, and slightly rounded. He had a jovial countenance and Martha decided he was somewhat more innocent than the other Doctor. She restrained the urge to laugh however, when she got the full view of the man. He had on a knitted pullover with red question marks, blue and red plaid pants, a blue blazer and a red and blue paisley scarf. The look was completed by a straw hat and a brolly with a red question mark handle. All in all, Martha was fairly certain she'd just met the Joker. The Jim Carey version anyway.

The smile that had been on the Scots face quickly faded into confusion when he got a look at their guest. He turned one way, to look at her from the right side and then the other, from the left. Then he he looked her up and down. With brolly tapping his cheek he commented, "Don't believe she's familiar. Why'd you bring her? Does she know anything?"

The blonde Doctor rolled his eyes and continued doing whatever it was he was doing at the console and said, "She says she's our companion. I couldn't find her in the time-line however. But she might know something."

Martha's mind blanked at that. Her eyes darted from one man to the other, then back again. There was definite amusement in the Scots' eyes as he awaited her outburst. Martha couldn't bear to disappoint.

"Our companion? What's that supposed to mean?"

The blonde Doctor studiously ignored her while the Scots... Doctor just stared at her in puzzlement. He spoke to the other man without moving his eyes from Martha's face.

"Not even a blip?"

"Nope."

"Hmm. That can't be good."

Martha huffed and crossed her arms. If she was gathering the clues correctly, this other man was also the Doctor and she was getting annoyed with their- his habit of talking about her like she wasn't there. Her current Doctor did that too, except that he was talking to Rose.

The Joker Doctor turned his attention back to Martha and asked, "What do you know of my disappearance?"

Balking, Martha blinked at the abruptness. He'd been looking at her, but all his attention had been on himself and suddenly, those disconcertingly dark eyes were joined by his mental presence. Martha was unsure whether she ever wanted to be known to this version of the Doctor.

"Ah... he just, er, you just started walking. I don't really know what happened. I called to him- you and I know I was within hearing range, but he- you! ignored me and just kept walking. I turned into a dead end and h- you were gone. Like poof! sort of gone."

The Joker Doctor leaned back against the console and crossed his arms. He tilted his head as he examined her and clucked a bit in the back of his throat.

"I've never brought a companion here, but it's a dangerous place. I believe I would have told you not to go into the side streets."

Again, Martha felt her flesh heating with embarrassment and she ducked her head. She scratched behind one ear and mumbled, "Well, he-you-he did, but he was acting weird. I was concerned."

Another sing-song 'HmmHMM' echoed from the bowels of the console and Martha restrained the urge to murder the blonde Doctor. She was really getting tired of his self-righteousness.

"Yes, well, you're having trouble referring to us, so you may call the me you travel with Ten, I will be Seven, and the blonde me will be Five. Hope that's much easier." Here he stopped and smiled in what seemed a kindly manner, but Martha was sure that a shark lived under that seemingly genial facade. "Now, why don't you point the way on the this map," he stopped again and pushed a few buttons on the console, popping up a map of the side streets, "so that myself and I can take a look."

Martha was silent, staring at the screen and then glancing between the place where Five had disappeared and where Seven stood. She twisted her lips, bit the inside of her cheek, and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her eyes caught on Seven's (and if she was deducing things correctly, that meant that the Doctor she traveled with was the tenth of his bodies, how disconcerting and how the hell old was he?) deceptive eyes and she shivered, but she was still going to follow through on her idea. She wouldn't let them-him-them! intimidate her.

"I'd rather take you there myself. I might get it wrong on a map. I've never been very good with them anyway."

She adjusted her stance, legs shoulder-width apart and shoulders squared, her head tipped slightly to the side and jaw clenched. Her hands fell to her sides, fists clenched and she stared Seven down... for approximately thirty seconds before her eyes skittered away of their own accord. Still, she stood tall and refused to move toward the map.

Five popped up from beneath the console and exchanged inscrutable looks with his other self. He shook his head minutely and straightened that garish celery stick pin. Seven shrugged his shoulders and then, finally, Five growled, "Fine!"

He hoisted himself all the way out and yanked the wrinkles out of his white linen jacket. He smoothed his hair and then reached for his hat, setting it atop his head as Seven reached for his umbrella. The question mark handle pointed to the door and Seven murmured, "Shall we?"

Pausing at the intersection, Martha glanced left and then right. Both directions were muddy, with large grooves from wagon and hovercraft alike filled to the brim with some sort of foamy liquid Martha feared was urine. The buildings on either side were nearly identical, the patterns of stains on their walls blending before her eyes. She looked back and forth, eyebrows scrunching in confusion, and took a deep breath. The stench, inhaled all the way into the body, was overwhelming. Urine, fecal matter, decaying flesh, and... cinnamon. She sniffed again, down each alley, searching for the cinnamon scent.

"If you told us what you are sniffing for, we may be able to help. Time Lords have superior senses, you know."

Martha gritted her teeth, but forced calm into her tone when she said, "I need to find which direction the cinnamon smell is coming from. That's the direction we need to go."

Two other noses joined in the sniffing and in under a minute, a Scottish accent commented, "We go right."

They turned down the alley and continued on, Martha attempting to avoid the puddles at all costs. She grimaced when she realized that neither Doctor seemed to care and stepped into the puddles if excess energy needed to be expended to avoid them. Half an hour of the trek and Martha spotted the slightly rounded alley she'd lost the Doctor.

"Here." She pointed into the alley and came to a stop, watching as each Doctor pulled out their sonic screwdrivers and started scanning.

"Hmm. Did you catch that spike?"

"Yep."

"I was afraid of that."

Martha watch, confused, as they both put away their screwdrivers and Five took out a pair of... Martha squinted and took a step forward, disbelief clear on her face as she recognized what were definitely crappy earth 3D glasses. The cheap kind found in cereal boxes. He slipped them on and scanned the alley, stopping when he looked at the building on their right.

"Secret door. I can't find the chameleon circuit, must be hidden deep within the building."

Seven nodded as Five stepped forward and opened the door. Martha could hardly believe her eyes as a stairwell appeared in what had been a wall seconds before. As the three of them descended, she asked, "Chameleon circuit?"

Seven tossed a glance back, eyebrows raised, and answered, "It is obvious, isn't? Chameleons can change their skin to match their surroundings and hide themselves. The circuit does the same. The TARDIS used to have one, but it broke and I never got around to fixing it. That is why it's stuck as a '50s Police Public Call Box. I'd been in 1956 for a spell. Quite lovely, the-"

"Shut up, you old windbag."

Martha started as she heard Seven snarl back, "Quit being jealous merely because I got the better body." They continued on in this fashion, putting each other down but really putting himself down and Martha was beginning to suspect that the Doctor had one of two things: multiple personality disorder or an intense self-hatred.

Seven bopped Five on the head with the handle of his brolly and Martha winced. She was leaning more toward multiple personality disorder, which makes sense if he's had as many bodies as she suspects. Suddenly, Ten didn't seem so appealing anymore. That thought lasted about five seconds, until the time she stepped foot into the den of iniquity. The smell of sex and sweat nearly bowled her over and the sight was no better.

Bodies writhed on a floor of deep red, almost blood colored lush carpet, and moans filled the air. A sharp jolt of jealously zinged through Martha and anger started simmering just below the surface. The Doctor had said he was coming here for parts, but all he really wanted was to come to a brothel! How dare he?

Five and Seven turned to look at her, one glowering and the other quizzical.

"Do you have any claim on me, if in fact, this was a brothel?"

The Scottish accent, though intending to be a question, was in a disbelieving tone that foretold Seven's own thoughts on the matter.

Martha flushed so violently she could hear the rushing in her ears. "I said that out loud?"

She got nodded heads in response and an impatient, "Well?" from Five.

Stuttering, Martha started, "We-well, we're not together, b-but I have high hopes that-"

A snort and a guffaw interrupted her answer from Five and Seven merely sniffed, a bland expression on his face.

"Then you have no right to be angry do you? If, in fact, this were a brothel. Which, if you knew me even in the slightest, you'd know I would never frequent."

Declaration made, Seven turned and started to wade through the bodies in one direction, while Five went in another. Martha stumbled over a pair of squirming legs and caught an eyeful of something she'd rather forget, debating on which man to follow. On one hand, Five had nothing but disdain for her. On the other, she was certain Seven thought she was stupid for trying to be angry at the Doctor for coming to what was definitely a brothel, no matter what Seven said. She had to choose quickly because both men would soon be out of sight and she would be left with raging things she didn't want to think about.

Quickly picking randomly, she darted after Seven, staggering over flung out limbs and overstuffed cushions. Slightly out of breath and attempting not to breathe in the scents of sin, Martha caught Seven's sleeve and gasped, "If it's not a brothel, what the hell is it?"

Incongruously, Seven answered placidly, "It's an opium den. Psychic opium den, run by telepathic parasitic aliens. They weren't satisfied with latching to a life mate and subsisting off their combined energy. They found that if they siphoned off energy from larger beings, they can get a bigger... hit, if you will. They send out telepathic calls that only latch onto those who have suffered a great loss - easier to keep the illusion that way - and it draws them to the nearest den.

The parasites burrow into their psyche, filtering through their minds until they find their victims' greatest loss and... give it back to them. There's a sort of psychic drug in the air that settles into the mind, makes the victims believe that their loved one has been brought back to them, makes them think this is all real. They are unaware of the others in the room. Of every couple in here, only one is real. The other is a sort of telepathic hologram. The reason I didn't answer you is because I was already under the influence of the Call. Which means I lost something very dear to me... someone."

Martha gasped as an arrow hit her directly in the chest. Rose. She just knew it and now she was going to be forced to see the man she loved in a very compromising position with another woman. It didn't matter that he never saw her that way, even told her at the beginning to get over it because it was never going to happen, didn't matter that he'd known Rose before and for longer than he'd known her. All that mattered was that she was going to see something that would shatter her world into a million tiny little pieces.

Her breath hitched as she attempted to hold in her tears. She shouldn't have come. She should have just pointed this place out on the map, like she'd been asked.

"Found me!"

Seven looked up and nodded at Five, turning in his direction. Martha followed more slowly, not eager to see what she knew they were going to see. She stopped just before she reached the alcove, not daring to look in, but observing both versions of the Doctor as they watched. Five seemed to have caught his breath and he had a sheen of tears in his eyes. Seven's usually mild face was sagging and his breath stuttered. Minutes passed and Martha tried to resist the urge to look, but it got harder the longer she watched the Doctor's faces.

She took a deep, steadying breath and took a few steps until she could look around the partition. She did so slowly and had to cover her mouth to keep in her cry as she saw a gorgeous blonde woman, diaphanous white tulle skirt covering her hips and her naked chest only covered by the Doctor's own.

In the silence, Ten whispered, "How long you gonna stay with me?"

The Rose-ogram whispered lovingly, "Forever."

Martha watched as both Doctors whizzed around the console. Best as she could tell, they were gearing up to fly away. She wasn't really sure though, she'd been in a daze of pain since they left the opium den. She was sagged against the jump seat, heart beating against her sternum sluggishly. She'd known how it was all along, remembered the Doctor's words that first night he asked her on.

"I'd rather be on my own."

"You're the one who kissed me."

"That was a genetic transfer!"

"And if you will wear a tight suit..."

He'd said it, tone already starting to get tight, eyes just turning glacial, but she'd not heeded him.

"Now, don't."

She'd been stupid, just continued on, determined to make him see her, not this happy-with-her-family Rose.

"And then travel all the way across the universe to ask me on a date..."

"Stop it!"

She'd been taken aback, a little afraid of the hard look in his eyes, and had backtracked quickly. He'd said 'good'. Just like that, like the matter was over with. And to him, she thought sadly, it had been. He'd dismissed it. Later, in her room, she'd thought it a minor setback, that he did like her that way, but it was buried under all that Rose. So she'd tried and tried and only succeeded in angering him. Even then, when she knew it was hopeless, she couldn't give up. Only now did it occur to her what a nuisance she'd seemed. She would be surprised he hadn't dumped her back on earth if she hadn't realized just how lonely Rose's loss had made him.

A familiar shaking jerked her out of her thoughts and she gripped tightly to the seat to prevent her falling. She looked up at the Doctors and asked neither in particular, "Shouldn't we save hi-you from that den?"

"We can't. There's only one person who can penetrate the psychic drugs to free me and she's gone. We can't delve into my mind because I'm lost in a sea of pain."

Both Doctors' faces were grim, dire even, and it occurred to Martha that it was strange the Doctor's past selves would be here, to attempt saving him.

"Why, exactly, does it matter if he can be saved? I mean, why so much that his past selves are aware of it and here to save the day?"

The two men (or one, she still couldn't comprehend it and just thinking about it gave her a headache) turned to look at her, for once neither making her feel small and unwanted. They looked like she'd asked a logical question. She refused to feel relieved. She didn't need their-his-their! validation.

"It's too complicated to put it in terms you'll fully understand. Time Lords, Gallifreyans, are the center of the universe. Literally. Guardians of Time. We're meant to keep the universe safe, though the majority of my people don't see it that way anymore. We have a connection to the universe and to Time that is hard to make others understand. As such, when the only protector of the universe is in danger, can't complete his duties that he should be able to in the future, the Time Lord Academy — which is where we're going — gets an alert. That's how we're here, more or less. Why we're here is because I am the only one of my people doing what we were put here to do, therefore, if I am incapacitated and can't get out even by regeneration, sometimes I have to join with myself and save the day. Get it?"

She was a little dizzy, the explanation not making much sense in layman's terms really, but she nodded anyway. She got the gist at least.

"Time Lord Academy?"

This time, Seven answered. "You thought we popped out of the loom with all our knowledge? We have academies, just like earth and many other planets. Mine was the Prydonian Chapter. Centuries of studying all forms of physics, quantum mechanics, astrology, and every other science imaginable."

Martha allowed the 'loom' comment to pass, not even wanting to know, but the other part, the bit where he'd studied for centuries to become what he is... well, she was never going to tell someone they had to earn the title of Doctor with her ever again.

Turning back to the original problem, Martha commented, "Why don't we just go pick Rose up?"

"That's not even funny, Miss Jones."

She blinked. "It wasn't meant to be. The Doctor told me that she was with her family and happy. We go, pick her up, get her to wake him from his dream, save the universe. Easy."

Seven furrowed his brow and tossed a glance at Five.

"She's not... dead?"

"No. He didn't say she was. Which begs the question why he's in such despair that Rose was such a bitch to leave him like that."

The Doctors started and turned hard glares onto her. Martha blanched and slouched onto the jump seat.

"Don't presume you know everything, or anything, about my past, Miss Jones. It's not information I give out easily, if at all."

Nodding, Martha looked down and folded her hands together, chastened yet again. Seconds later, the TARDIS landed with a slight jiggle and thump and the Doctors headed toward the door. Dejected and with nothing better to do, Martha followed. When she stepped foot into the Time Lord Academy, Martha was greeted by the sight of a woman, regal in bearing but child in face, cooly greeting the Doctors. Once that was finished, she turned her attention to Martha and raised an eyebrow.

"What is this? And why is it in the Academy?"

Martha bristled. The nerve calling her an 'it'! She opened her mouth to blast the woman when Five stepped in and Martha was sure he was going to correct her. Smugness slipped in as she cast a sly glance at the other woman, but her satisfaction was short-lived when he said, "It is here because it might have some useful information for us." His eyes twinkled humorously at Martha, slightly condescendingly, and Martha bared her teeth at him. Five mock shivered before turning back to the woman.

"One of your companions, I assume?"

"So she says. It is curious, however, as I cannot find her in my personal timeline."

The woman eyed Martha up and down, slowly, her eyes passing over Martha like a patron at a decidedly lacking museum. "It must either be a fluke in your timeline or it has a remarkably insignificant impact upon it."

Seven spoke up. "She was able to help us find the problem. It seems I am stuck in a psychic opium den. Miss Jones has informed me that very shortly before she started traveling with me, I had lost someone very special. Rose. She says Rose is still alive, but she doesn't know much else, Romana."

The woman, Romana, seemed to ponder this, before she nodded sternly and turned on her heel, striding down the hall.

"Come with me. We will have to use the lab if we are to dissect every word you ever said to her to figure this out." The two Doctors nodded and proceeded after Romana, heels clacking loudly on the pink tinted marble. Martha stayed rooted to the spot, eyes bugged and mouth open as her screech echoed down after them.

"Dissected?!"

The round, flexible suction cup, no bigger than the 1p in her pocket, was pressed unceremoniously to her right temple, followed by its identical onto her left. Martha had been assured this wouldn't hurt, though she'd feel a sort of drawing sensation, like when she donated blood. Still, her hands curled tightly around the edges of the table she was sat upon and her shoulders tensed. She didn't much like the idea that they'd be extracting her memories, laying them out to be 'oohed' and 'ahhed' at like her mind was a film. If they broke out popcorn and Mike & Ikes, she was going to kick them.

"Can't I just tell you what he's said to me?"

Five shook his head, but his attention was directed to the absurd celery lapel pin on his jacket, and so Seven spoke.

"You fancy yourself in love with me. Therefore anything you say will be colored by that. You would not be paying attention to the nuances in my voice or my actions in any other way other than as they pertained to you. There is another way to go about this, of course, where only one of me need see your memories, but something happened to make you think I was interested in you. That course of action would then be seen as quite intimate to you and possibly encourage your ill-advised crush."

Martha blushed furiously and ducked her head, eyes glistening with the sting of tears. Her mind flashed back to the hospital on the moon, when the Doctor had grabbed her head and smashed his lips to hers.

"Martha, forgive me for this. It's to save a thousand lives, it means nothing. Honestly, nothing."

That's what he'd said. Word for word exactly. Something that she'd 'seen as intimate and possibly encouraged her ill-advised crush'. But it'd been a great kiss, skilled, the best she'd ever had! Something that good, she'd thought, couldn't possibly mean nothing. It had been a great kiss! Her mind faltered as it corralled an image of her sister, curled up on the couch in sweats and baggy shirt, hair messily pushed back with a sweatband. She remembered the words Tish had spoken, when Martha had asked why she wasn't pursuing George the Great Kisser.

Her sister smiled, slightly pityingly Martha hated to note, and said, "Sometimes, Martha, a kiss is just a kiss. No matter how great it is. Skill only means one of two things: he's a natural or he's had a lot of practice. Usually, it's the latter."

"Do you understand?"

The sharp words jolted Martha out of her reverie and she turned her eyes outward to look at Romana. She stumbled over her words, those piercing eyes boring into her own, as she asked, "Sorry?"

Romana heaved an irritated sigh and repeated, "You need to start thinking of the first time you met the Doctor. Focus on that. When the device hooks onto that memory, it will follow the rest in order, and you do not need to think of them for the device to do its job. The only part you need to be active in is the first memory. Understand?"

Martha nodded and squeezed her eyes shut, thinking of the Doctor waving his tie about in her face and speaking like he was drunk. She kept that image in her mind, eyes caressing the thin contours of his face, his unruly hair, the freckles standing out on his wan complexion. He had been quite wan. Soon, there was a sort of withdraw from her head. It was like that plasmavore she and the Doctor had run into on the moon, sticking her straw into Martha's head and just sucking. It didn't really hurt, but she did get a bit dizzy as each and every memory she had from the moment she'd met the Doctor whizzed past her mind's eye at sonic speed. She wondered how such a recording could ever be made.

She wasn't sure how long she'd spent spinning in a seemingly endless pool of mixed faces and words, all of them dashing by her mental self like cannon balls just off the port bow, but finally she was jerked out of it, gasping and coughing like she'd been drowning. It was a very apt description, too, she should know. She'd nearly drowned in her uncle's pool when she was ten and the same breathlessness that she'd had then had accompanied her here. It was a very unpleasant memory, but she had to hand it to these Time Lords; they hadn't lied about it hurting.

Hands grabbed her shoulders, either to hold her up or to snatch her attention she didn't know, and she was about to snap at whoever it was for their audacity when a cup of water was thrust under her nose. She latched on to it and downed it in one go, amazed at how the liquid seemed to calm her spinning head swiftly. Another Time Lord trick, probably.

The fifth Doctor, it turned out, had been the one to grasp her, and he led her gently to a chair seated against a wall.

"Sit here. The air from the vent will reach you better and no doubt help clear your head." He was still as terse as ever with her and he turned on his heel to examine what they'd brought up, stopping for one second and saying, without turning, "Thank you."

Martha shrugged and slumped into the chair. At least the man wasn't without all manners. She leaned her head back, resting it against the cool tile of the wall and feeling the breeze from the vent gently caress her face. The only truly gentle thing on this strange planet, she imagined. She heard a bizarre sound, much like what those old VHSs sounded like when rewound and she turned her head, eyes fluttering open, to see what it was. Her eyes shot open wider when she saw her memories, her memories, being rewound like they were a motion picture. It was the most surreal feeling, watching her life flash by on a screen, pieces of her life that she knew had never seen a video camera.

The machine wound down, slowing, and came to a stop and then automatically clicked to play. Martha blanched as her most intimate thoughts played out in front of an audience they weren't meant for.

There, he took off his tie and waved it about.

The Doctor sitting in bed, being so dramatic when he said, "Blah!"

Her feeling for his hearts.

Her comforting her friend, the Doctor popping out from behind the curtain, them on the balcony watching the earth.

Her mentioning her cousin Adeola, never coming back from Canary Wharf. The Doctor saying he was sorry and, "I was there. In the battle."

Romana smacked a button on the wall, near the screen, pausing the memory. She pointed with her manicured finger and exclaimed, "There!"

Martha scooted up, adjusted her position, and asked, "There what?"

Five, leaning against the table Martha had been sitting on, and Seven who was standing in the middle of the room, leaning on his brolly, ignored her even as Romana cast her a quick glance. It was one of the Doctors, however, who answered.

"It's a clue to Rose's whereabouts. I'm sad, you see, and you said Rose was the… companion before you. Really, it is quite obvious to realize that losing Rose must be why I am sad. Now we need to know more about Canary Wharf."

After speaking, Seven gestured to Romana to continue the recording, but Martha spoke up before her finger could depress the button.

"You'll not get anything more from my memories then. That's the first and last time he's ever spoken to me about the Wharf."

The room's occupants fell quiet, while Romana hit a red button that Martha assumed meant 'erase'. Five turned to Martha after a few minutes of stroking his hat ribbon and asked, "Do you know anything about Canary Wharf, perhaps from your cousin? I don't suppose she knew of any surveillance around the wharf that could have caught something?"

Martha smirked. "Canary Wharf isn't a real wharf. It's one of the business districts in London. Adeola worked for the government, in an office building. I mean, sure, it's on the water, hence the name, but it's not anything like a dock. But yeah, there should've been cameras."

Romana arched a perfectly manicured brow and intoned (Martha couldn't describe it any other way), "Then we had better see what the cameras caught."

… Martha half expected dramatic Hallmark music to start playing any second now, to accompany Romana's overly grim announcement.

"I shall go," Five announced. He nodded once, slipped his Opie hat back on, and strode to the TARDIS. Martha blinked, wondering just when the ship had arrived in the room, but then shook it off. She watched as the ship disappeared, but then reappeared just as it had faded, seamlessly blending to look as if it had never really gone. It gave Martha a headache.

The door flung open and the Doctor strode out. His face was set, forbidding, as he bit out, "There had been a turf war on earth, between Cybermen from a parallel universe and Daleks who'd come out of the Void. Rose- she almost got sucked into the Void."

It just confused Martha more as Seven gripped his brolly handle harder and went a shade paler than pure white and Romana gasped, covering her mouth tightly.

Five took a deep breath and continued, "She was saved, however, by a man from the alternate reality. He had some sort of device, I couldn't see it clearly, that helped him hop into this universe, grab Rose before she fell in, and then hop back to the other side. There was a woman there who'd gone before Rose, clear resemblance. Definitely her mother, so that part of what I had told you, Martha, was true. She was with her family, but I saw-"

Breaking off, the Doctor lowered his face and scrubbed it with his hands. He took one, two, three deep breathes before speaking again, voice muffled by his hands.

"Her face, as she was transported to the other reality, was not one of someone who wished to leave me."

Silence settled over the room like a shroud and Martha slouched even further into her chair. Great, she thought caustically, the almighty goddess of the Doctor's hearts will return and then where will I be? She'd never been that great at being happy that the ones she loved were going to be happy, if it was with someone else. Then again, she'd never really thought about it and she didn't now.

The thick Scottish brogue that Seven had sliced through the quiet and Martha's self-pitying thoughts.

"Hold on. If she is in an alternate universe, why don't I just round up Romana and convince her to help me get Rose back? You would do it, if I showed you how important she is to me."

Martha's eyes flew to Romana as the woman asked slyly, "And just how important to you is she?"

Five snorted derisively and spit out, "Come, Romana, you very well know what sort of psychic energy those parasites feed off of, just as well as I do."

Romana smirked slightly before commenting, "You have a point, Doctor. Maybe you were banned from Gallifrey once more and all communications were blocked. You know how temperamental we can be."

Martha opened her mouth to tell them why the Doctor didn't ask for help, even though she didn't know the reason to the Doctor's distinct oneness, when Romana cut her another sharp glance.

"Though this episode will be erased from our minds to preserve the timeline, it is much easier to do when we do not have too much information. The reason for the Doctor's inability to contact me does not signify, as I am here now and have two versions of the Doctor. Crossing over will be quite simple to do. Miss Jones, you will stay here."

With that pronouncement, Romana strode from the room and in the opposite direction of the TARDIS while Five shuffled into the ship. Seven doffed his hat with the tip of his brolly and followed Five into the time machine, leaving Martha alone.

As the TARDIS did its grinding disappearance, Martha crossed her arms petulantly and hissed, "Yes, your majesty."

The TARDIS finished its materialization process and Seven initiated the Phase Variance scan, searching for a slightly out of phase genetic code within the greater London area. He hoped he wasn't assuming anything; for all he knew, Rose could be Norwegian. As the TARDIS searched for this obviously special girl, Seven glanced at his younger self. Five was staring somewhat dazedly into the glowing light of the time rotor, hands resting lightly on the console.

Seven knew exactly what he was thinking, being the older version of that body. It was the same thing passing through his current one. Being so afraid of domesticity as he was, the Doctor had vowed never to marry, never to tie himself to one person. And yet, here his older self was, incapable of continuing on without this one woman. A gorgeous woman to be sure and someone extraordinary, to lure him to break one of his most important rules.

"I'll retrieve her when she's found," Five announced. Seven 'hmmed' and turned back to the screen, part of his mind replaying the vision in white tulle undulating obscenely in his future self's lap. His little Time Lord twitched a bit.

Seconds later, the screen beeped and zoomed in closer on the map of London, a list of directions popping up beside it. Five jerked out of his reverie and approached, leaning his left side against the console and peering down at the red, blinking dot on the screen. His finger came up, slowly, and caressed the dot. Seven refrained from commenting, knowing his fifth body had always been a little more human in emotion than the other six that he currently knew about. Although, Seven was sure that Ten could give Five a run for his money in the humanity department, if the display in the Den was anything to go by… not that Seven could blame himself. He was rather looking forward to meeting this apparently magnificent woman.

Five still stood at the console, gazing at the screen, when Seven impatiently jostled his arm sharply. "Go!"

"Right! Sorry." He doffed his hat and then fairly skittered out the door. Seven shook his head. Meeting himself always gave him a headache, the way understanding a circular paradox gave humans a headache.

Tipping his head to the side, the Doctor asked aloud, "I wonder if Rose would like a spot of tea when she gets aboard." He stood there, pondering this question for a moment, before he nodded in the affirmative and pottered off to the kitchen.

The Doctor stood at the entrance to a gigantic park, one that didn't exist in his reality. It had dips and grooves and hidden spaces, unkempt nooks and maze-like pathways. There were colorful blobs dotting the green and the Doctor was suddenly thankful for his trusty sonic screwdriver. He'd never be able to find her in the morass of people before him otherwise. He calibrated the sonic to the phase variance calculated by the TARDIS and followed its soothing bleep, bleep! sounds as he wended deep into the trees.

As he got deeper and it got darker, the Doctor had to readjust his senses, nearly stumbling over a root or clump of grass or… the Doctor grimaced and refused to look down as his foot squished into something. It didn't matter what it was, it didn't. His sonic faded in and out, the thickness of the foliage and the sudden humidity somehow tampering with the device. It probably just meant he needed to give it a tune up.

The screwdriver gave one more pathetic bl..ee..p before it crapped out for good and the Doctor growled. He shook it violently, batted at it, banged on the switch, but it stayed off and eventually, he shoved it rudely into his inside jacket pocket.

Damn things! Can't be trusted to help you when on a highly important quest!

He slogged through wet, droopy foliage and over fallen trees, slipping once on the slick bark, before he finally came to an overgrown grotto. The vines caressed like lovers the tumbling rock pillars there, as lichen crawled up the bases of the lone stone statue of a dancing lady. The trees hung low over the semi-clearing, shading and protecting that within. Fallen rock from the hillside was overrun with verdant grasses and the occasional flower and the Doctor could distinctly hear the trill of a bird, somewhere in the mess of the canopy above.

It was a fairytale location, the fair Rose framed in the middle of the portrait on a wooden swing, idly gliding back and forth, right foot resting on the large seat and the other dragging listlessly in the grass, back pressing into the rope. She was even more beautiful than in the image in the Den. Her face was more chiseled, hair straighter, less makeup decorating her face. The Doctor couldn't help but pause to catch his breath, imprinting this beautiful creature into his mind's eye. She'd be gone from it soon enough, but he'd treasure her while he could. Until they met once again.

This feeling, this tight, fluttery feeling, was something he'd never admit to have been looking for if he was here in any of his previous bodies. More human than them all, for now, and he was willing to admit that in his heart of hearts, he'd wanted so much to find this feeling. Like he was being bathed in the sun and the rain, being dizzied up so he didn't know which way was forward or back anymore; a feeling he'd been trying to encourage with Tegan, but something that, he truly knew, couldn't be brought with the wanting of it. Love chose its own slaves.

Taking a deep breath, the Doctor straightened his hat, jerked his jacket to un-wrinkle it, and then stepped further into the clearing, into a patch of struggling sunlight. He leaned against one of the pillars, crossed a leg, and commented lazily, "You're a hard woman to find."

Rose quirked her lips gently as she continued to gaze at the statue of the lady. The Doctor had a spike of satisfaction that she hadn't startled; she knew someone had been watching. Great survival skills.

"Who's lookin' for me?"

"Can't you tell?"

Even with the leisurely roll of her head to look at him, the Doctor wasn't fooled into thinking this woman was anything but dangerous if provoked. She reminded him of a viper at that moment, all still and calm, but waiting to strike. She… was… magnificent!

She eyed him up and down, eyes taking in every last detail of his body, before they ventured up to his face and catalogued everything there. His skin heated with excitement as her eyes caressed him and his respiratory bypass had to kick in to prevent hyperventilation, but then all thought stopped when their eyes finally connected. His air deserted him and the universe fell away. He was drawn in by those amazing hazel orbs and entranced by the occasional flash of gold swirling in them. And he understood even more why he could never let her go. She was intrinsic in his very blood.

He was jerked out of his pleasant haze by a soft cry, Rose covering its escape with one delicate hand. He took one hesitant step forward, arms reaching out to cradle her, ask her what was the matter, when his eyes cataloged the look on her face. Recognition. Just like he'd hoped, she'd recognized his eyes.

"Ha-have you… did-"

The Doctor strode forward and squatted in front of the woman, suddenly like a little girl, on the swing. Regeneration is hard on those closest to him, he knows, even one who would love him in every body, so he held no grudge. He merely placed his hands on Rose's knees, looked up into her eyes, and said softly, "No. I'm not your Doctor at all in fact; at least - not yet."

Rose blinked, her hands falling from the corded rope of the swing to cup the Doctor's face. Her thumbs rubbed gently across his cheekbones as she gazed into his eyes, a small smile forming on her lips.

"What're ya doin' here? An' how'd'ya know 'bout me?"

He chuckled lightly and ducked his head, dislodging her hands before he became mesmerized again.

"Long story short: Gallifrey gets a call of sorts when something happens in the future that can contribute to the premature ending of the universe. They always call me in, the rebel, despite deploring my very existence."

He stopped speaking as Rose chuckled throatily, the sound sending shivers down his spine. He cast a look upwards through his lashes and smiled toothily as she gazed down at him fondly.

"Yeah, well… anyway, I'm in danger. Well, future me, your me."

Rose shot to her feet immediately, nearly sending the Doctor sprawling. He caught his feet however and stood as well, grabbing Rose's arms to prevent her panicked run.

"Rose! Calm down! At the moment, everything's fine. I'm fine. I've got vast energy reserves, I'll last in the Den for at least a century or two."

That caught Rose's attention. She jerked her head back to him and asked sharply, "Den?"

The Doctor nodded and stated, "I'll tell you on the way to the TARDIS… if I can find my way out of this jungle."

Despite the dire circumstances, Rose giggled at his bafflement and took his right hand in hers, leading the way. As they faded into the great beastly trees, Rose cast behind her, "I thought it was impossible to travel to alternate universes with only one Time Lord."

"I'm not operating alone, you know."

Rose cast a giddy glance back and then turned to the front. They trudged in silence for nearly ten minutes until, unexpectedly, Rose burst out with, "I'm going home!"

Rose blinked as she set her army duffle down on the floor of the TARDIS. She knew the ship was alive, even conversed with her at times, but she hadn't known it could change herself. She looked around at the space, smaller than what she was used to and… white. Medical came to mind. Certainly it was much colder than her own version and she wished to get back to it as soon as possible. Her mind, comforting and familiar as the younger one was, didn't quite mesh with the younger ship. They were… out of phase with each other and she felt an acknowledging nudge in her mind.

"Ah, the lovely Rose."

Another man, this one slightly older, smaller and darker, with a thick Scottish brogue that sent tingles through Rose's body, emerged from the hallway. He carried a tea tray with cups, teapot, and nibbles and jam. Setting it on the console, he turned and gestured toward her. Rose followed his beckoning and approached, watching as he played mother and helping herself to a scone with raspberry jam; her Doctor's favorite.

"I just take honey, Doctor."

The Doctor, Seven as the other one had said, looked at her with a quirked eyebrow.

"Interesting. In any case, here we are dear. Eat up. Did my younger self explain everything to you?"

Nodding, Rose swallowed a huge bite of scone down with a sip of tea. They were both heavenly. She'd told her mum once that once you went TARDIS food, you never went back. Jackie'd asked her if that was why she was leaving her family. Rose didn't even dignify it, her mum being as distraught as she'd been. Still is.

That thought saddened Rose and she moved to the wall and slid to the floor, cup cradled in her hands. The steam swirled up from into her face, wafting the comforting aroma of tea and honey in commiseration. It'd taken hours of yelling and screaming, sending Pete back and forth with messages when they weren't speaking, to get her mum to understand that this was her second chance, just like she'd gotten with Pete. She'd had to shatter her mum's illusions by revealing that she'd only been faking the happiness, for Jackie's sake.

"After all, you can't live without your hearts, can ya?"

"Are you all right, my dear?"

Rose looked up, her eyes catching on Seven's. Nodding, she whispered, "Yeah. Thanks."

Seven nodded as well and went back to fiddling with the console. Five joined him after casting a grin and wink in Rose's direction. Rose smiled in return and watched as they worked in tandem, the occasional bratty slap on the hand or shove to the shoulder making her giggle. Five's ears perked and he cast a sly glance at Rose before turning to Seven and announcing, "Rose thinks my celery makes me look dapper."

"Rose is in love with me, she'd think I looked dapper in a pink diaper and bikini top."

Five looked greatly offended as Rose burst out in guffaws. Seven cast a wink at her and then smacked the back of his younger body's head. He turned back to the console as they settled jerkily and then stated, "We're here!"

Rose hopped to her feet, took one more sip of her tea, and set the vessel on the console. Five offered her his arm and she took it, feeling like a grand lady as Seven swung the door open with a flourish. As they emerged into a lab, in what the Doctor said was part of the Time Lord Academy, Rose's eyes darted around, taking in the site of a fairly regular looking science lab and two women.

"Hello Rose. I am Romana. The Doctor informed you of what is happening?"

Rose nodded, her eyes darting to the other woman in the room. "Who are you?"

"I'm Doctor Martha Jones."

She said Doctor like 'I'm better than you', and Rose raised her brows. Current companion, she instantly deduced. Still, didn't mean Rose was going to let Jones walk all over her.

"Nice ta meet ya, Doctor Jones. 'M Doctor Rose Tyler."

Sticking out her hand, Rose waited for the other woman to reciprocate. Doctor Jones faltered, cockiness seeming to fade for a minute, before she stuck her own hand out and shook Rose's, squeezing unnecessarily hard. Rose let it slide. She didn't need to engage in a pissing contest; she knew her worth to her Doctor.

"The Doctor didn't say you had a PhD."

Rose snorted. "I'll wager 'e didn't tell ya much about me a'tall. 'S his way, you know. In any case, I didn't have one when I traveled with him."

Martha Jones nodded, her sable hair gleaming in the bright white of the lab's lights. With her mocha skin and dark eyes, Rose decided she was a very attractive woman. Still, she could see why the Doctor chose her to travel with. She was nothing like Rose on any level. Rose understood quite well. At Torchwood, she couldn't work with anyone who wore pinstripes, had wayward hair, or a hyperactive personality. It'd just been too much.

"How long you been with the Doctor then?"

"Three weeks. How long had you traveled with him?"

"'Bout two and half years."

Rose studied Jones a bit longer before nodding once and then turning back to her Doctor. "I s'pose we came here to pick her back up. So can we get goin' now?"

The blonde Doctor nodded and gestured to the door. Jones marched toward it, back starched, and Rose stifled a chuckle. She smiled at Romana and said, "It was nice to meet ya," and then moved toward the TARDIS as well. Almost immediately, Jones was by her side, striking up a conversation. Rose listened politely, nodding every once in a while, but every third word out of the other woman's mouth seemed to be about her own accomplishments or how integral she'd been to the Doctor these past weeks.

Rose could tell she was exaggerating most things, they taught lie-detecting at Torchwood, but she didn't say anything. The poor woman was obviously suffering a crush and trying to make Rose jealous, but Rose wouldn't fall for it. She'd learned her lesson with Sarah-Jane and Madame de Pompadore. She knew what she was to the Doctor and she knew what Sarah-Jane had been and still was and what Reinette had never been to him at all. She knew that when he loved, he loved deeply and forever, and she knew that she was the object of those affections. If Jones wanted to make herself seem more than she was, then so be it. It made no never mind to Rose. But when Jones told her that Rose would need her help, Rose merely turned at the door and commented, "Unless you're the Doctor, I work alone" and then, dismissively, "Could you take my pack with you to our TARDIS? Thanks."

The Doctor stepped out with Rose, one on each side, Jones behind them and carrying Rose's pack, face stormy. Five reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of glasses fantastically familiar to Rose and she smirked. He handed them to her, answering her amused smile with one of his own and said, "I can't really help you. My part in this is done now, so you're on your own."

Seven pointed down the alley, explaining her route as Five borrowed Rose's TARDIS key to escort Martha back to the present Doctor's ship. Rose barely cast the other woman a glance. She seemed nice enough when she wasn't busy being jealous, but not the sort Rose'd ever be friends with. She beamed at the Scottish Doctor and gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek and then turned, as the fifth Doctor returned. She took her key back and then hugged him again. She pulled back, smiled fondly at him and was about to turn to go when he planted a passionate kiss onto her lips.

Seconds passed and Rose melted into his embrace, her arms coming up to circle his neck when the older Doctor cleared his throat. Rose jerked back, blushing viciously, and giggled.

"Right, well, s'pose I should go."

Five winked at her and she giggled again, turning down the alley and making her way to save her damsel in distress; she'd keep that little knock to herself, she thought humorously.

Rose stepped into the alley designated by the fifth doctor, her nostrils flaring at the stink that was only exacerbated by the heat of the triplet suns glaring down onto the surface. The mud radiated heat illusions as it baked and cracked, sizzling in places from the unknown substance that liquefied the dirt. Her hands, already feeling the dehydration, clenched around the glasses the seventh doctor had handed to her with a curious little smile. Rose decided to breathe through her mouth as she shaded her eyes with her free hand, thanking her stars that the TARDIS had at least allowed them to land when the suns were passed their zenith.

Movement from the corner of Rose's eye caught her wary attention. The culprit was shrouded in the shadows of the towering buildings, but Rose had more than enough experience dealing with such things and her superior peripherals caught out everything. He was heavily armed, with three pair along his torso, hands the size of sledgehammers, and glowing red eyes. Rose resisted the urge to snort. Nothing but decoration. Rastroloffs were as weak as kittens. With nothing to worry about from that quarter, and no other suspicious movement catching her attention, Rose moved further into the alley, slipping on glasses the spitting image of those she'd used to see the Void stuff. Seven had assured her that these worked very differently.

Sure enough, the moment she'd covered her eyes with the cheesy looking things, Rose spotted a hidden door set into the foundation of the building on her right. It sat at a curious angle, like the building was at a lean, indicating that the room she wanted would be going down into the ground. A shiver passed quickly through her before she suppressed it. She hated underground lairs, she really did, but her Doctor was down there and she was the only one who could save him. It's a good thing she'd been leading Ops at Torchwood and UNIT for the past three years, is all she can think.

Keeping her eye on the Rastroloff (they may have been weak, but they were fast), Rose made her way to the door. The creature didn't so much as blink an eye until Rose was right on top of her target. Before she could even let out a breath, the guard was on her. Good thing her feet were faster. A reflex kick backward, right into the thing's stomach, sent him flying into the traffic of the side street. He hit a traveling dung seller's cart, toppling it and its merchandise right on top of himself. It didn't matter, though; he'd already been knocked unconscious when his head had hit the wood. Rose allowed herself a quick, tight smile of satisfaction before she returned her attention to her very precious task at hand.

The door wasn't locked; it didn't need to be of course, obscured as it was by a chameleon circuit, so Rose was capable of entering swiftly and cleanly. The dark, narrow corridor, made darker by the glasses she quickly removed, continued down directly from the door, as she'd suspected, and spiraled into a dizzying staircase. The turns were tight, the space almost impossible to turn to her advantage if attacked, but her Doctor was in trouble and the universe knew, nothing would stop Rose from getting to him. Her body remained tight, tense for any surprises, so it was almost disappointing when she reached the bottom unscathed.

A curtain masked the room beyond and Rose discreetly peeked around. Knowing what she did about the place, she wasn't in the least surprised by what she found in the large, open cavern. Lights like candles danced in the corners and from one large chandelier in the center of the ceiling, lending an intimate, almost romantic essence to the space. Creatures of all sizes, shapes, and races littered the large, opulently carpeted floor; the thick red flooring sent the half- and completely naked occupants of the den into stark relief.

Rose took a step forward, her eyes searching for one creature amongst the many; for a skinny body and hair the size of the universe, and, "Oh!"

She looked down after catching herself and murmured, "'M sorry, you blend right in to th'…" The rubicund creature didn't even seem to hear her, continuing on with his activities like he/she/it was the only one in the room. Rose blushed lightly and continued, more cautiously, into the chamber.

She hadn't thought to bring a torch, neither had any version of the Doctor, so her going was slow. Moans and groans, sighs and gasps and squeaks, were all she could hear.

"Wait a minute." Rose tipped her head, listening again, and sure enough, Squeak! A gentle smile spread across her face as joy filled her. There's only one being I know of that squeaks like that.

Following her ears, Rose stepped over and around beings of all sexes in varying states of arousal, until she reached a curtained alcove. She quietly brushed it aside, careful not to let anything on the other side be seen by the room at large, though she doubted anyone would really notice. There was a step that Rose nearly tripped off, but the Doctor didn't notice. He was sitting on a feathered mattress, black as pitch it was, which made the paleness of his exposed neck stand out all the more. It convulsed as the psychically generated Rose latched her lips over the pulses point, suckling delicately. Another squeak, followed by a sigh, escaped the Doctor's lips. His hands rose from the low bed and grasped possessively onto the tulle-clad hips of the illusion. His head turned, nose nudging the delicate cheekbone that matched Rose's own, to gain its attention.

They stared into each other's eyes as the Doctor whispered brokenly, "How long you gonna stay with me?"

The Rose mirage grinned joyously and whispered back, "Forever."

"Oh…" the groan was long and drawn out as the Doctor, still clad in his trousers, rolled over into a prone position, taking the Rose-drug with him. He frantically pushed up the white, gauzy tulle skirt, pants falling from his mouth as he kissed everywhere he could reach, and then sheathed himself to the hilt.

"I, I, I-" His stuttered sentence never finished as he pumped into the Rose-drug at a desperate pace, its body pushed almost violently across the bed. "Say you'll… never leave me!"

Tears streamed down Rose's face as she watched her fragile Doctor fall apart in the arms of a psychic-narcotic vision, grateful sobs wracking his frame as it promised, "Never."

She knew that he was aware, on some level, that he was drugged, that none of this was real, or else he wouldn't be crying when he received his answer. She was grateful for this because she knew it'd make it all the easier to get him to leave. Her heart shattered into a million little pieces as she heard him cry, something out of all the things she'd held him through that she'd never once seen. Her brave man had held on as long as he possibly could, but she was back, and she was gonna take care of him like she'd always promised.

Wiping the tear tracks from her face, Rose nodded once and then approached the Doctor. He was still wrapped around the Rose-drug, still hard but unable or unwilling to come, head buried in the crease of her neck. The Rose-drug, on the other hand, looked directly at Rose as she approached. It didn't blink, it didn't speak, it didn't move. Just stared. Rose grimaced, creeped out beyond the telling of it, so she focused on her reason for being there.

She knelt down, close to the Doctor's side, and said softly, "Doctor."

No reaction, just as the creature she'd tripped over had ignored, or been incapable of perceiving, her. The Doctor snuffled, rubbed his face into the Rose-drug's neck and murmured, "Should have never tried to resist you, never, ever, ever, never, ever."

Rose-drug immediately reacted, coming out of her trance-like state and murmuring, "But it worked out, yeah? I'm here and stayin'." Response given, it turned back to staring at nothing. Rose blanched. It was like an automaton, turned off when nothing was required of it, but having a rote response when - most likely dug from the inner recesses of the Doctor's mind - spoken to. She had to get him out of here. She could already see the energy draining out of him, not evident when he'd been in hysterical motion, but now, at rest, his color was pallid, his breathing erratic.

Reaching out, Rose grasped the Doctor's shoulder and squeezed, hard. "Doctor!"

That got a reaction. He released the Rose-drug swiftly, thrust his hand into his trouser pocket even as the other clasped the front closed, and turned, pointing the sonic screwdriver at her threateningly. His face was contorted in rage as he glared at her before her identity asserted itself in his mind. His hand faltered, wavered, before falling to the bed in confusion and his face twisted in puzzlement.

"Rose? Why are... but… two of you?" At one time, his voice might have come out a confused squeak, but this time, his breath was ragged and his tone strained. Rose could see the toll the energy drain was having on him. He'd already lost weight he could ill-afford to lose.

Smiling reassuringly at her special man, Rose took his hand and caressed it. The Doctor's eyes fell closed in undeniable ecstasy, a small moan falling from his lips.

"Doctor, there's not two of me. 'S'jus' one, as always." He continued to ignore her, basking in her touch, so Rose raised her free hand and slapped him lightly on the cheek. "Wake up! Look around you, Doctor! Think!"

His eyes were wide as he looked at her, betrayed. It hurt her heart to see it, but she needed his attention. She slapped him again, harder, and shouted once more, "Think!"

The Doctor blinked once, twice, attempting to clear his mind and did as she'd asked. He looked around the room, taking in the dark den-like atmosphere, the unmoving Rose-drug on the bed, the moans and smells emanating from outside the alcove. Brief awareness flickered across his face before it was swamped once more by the opiates being pumped into the room.

"Doctor, think! When we make love, are we goin' to do it in a room full of other bein's? In a room that resembles a bordello? Doctor! Come back to me, I'm right here, the real thing, here!"

The last came out on a sob, Rose's tenuous control over her emotions snapping violently. She grabbed one of his hands with both of hers, raising it to her mouth and kissing it repeatedly, desperately. Her breathing came out in wheezes and chokes, she could hardly see anything her tears were so thick, but she could hear him. A small, horrified voice.

"Rose?"

She sniffed loudly, an unattractive sound of snot snorted up her nose, and wiped her eyes. She looked up into her Doctor's face, examining his eyes intently. There, the drug haze was lifting, slowly at first, then faster as his hands explored her face, her hair, her shoulders. Her tongue peaked out of her mouth to dance along her teeth, baring her wide wolf's smile. She readjusted her position, got up onto her knees, and was about to go in for a hug when the Doctor dropped his hands and darted away from her.

She turned to watch him as he clasped his pants around his waist and turned to the wall, head bowed and shoulders heaving. Her heart-pain was shrouded in confusion. Doctor version 7.0 had said that these psychic-narcotic dens manipulated their victims most deepest desires. If she was his deepest desire, then why was the Doctor running away?

She watched him, her heart breaking, when she saw his shoulders convulse. Lurching to her feet, Rose put all selfish thoughts aside and stumbled to him, the Doctor's well-being the most important thing in the world to her.

"Doctor, what's wrong?" Her hands fluttered uncertainly for a moment before they eventually settled on his biceps, squeezing reassuringly. The Doctor flinched and Rose released him immediately, pushing down a flare of hurt. "Doctor?"

He mumbled something, too low for her to hear, but Rose refused to step closer, to make him any more uncomfortable than he already was. "What was that, love?"

Silence and then the Doctor spun around, his face distraught, tears spilling down over his stark freckles, his body trembling uncontrollably. His hands were balled into fists on the front of his still-undone trousers and it took everything within Rose not to tug him to her, hug the life back into him.

Finally, he murmured just loud enough for her to hear: "You must think I'm disgusting."

And it suddenly dawned on Rose the reason for her Doctor's reactions. She smiled tremblingly, clasping her hands in front of her face, more tears escaping from her eyes, and whispered, "Oh no. Not my Doctor."

She sniffed loudly and dropped her hands, taking one large step to the man she loved and wrapping her body around him like she was an octopus. Her arms crooked around his head, pulling it down into her neck and her hips cradled his. The Doctor paused, just slightly, before his arms encircled Rose's waist and clung desperately.

Tightly entwined, just as it should be, Rose whispered once more, "Never my Doctor."

She rubbed her hands through his hair, gently massaging his scalp, before she dropped her hands to his back and caressed back and forth, soothing out her Doctor's trembles with love and patience. His breathing, agitated with self-disgust, finally calmed, became even and soft as they leaned into each other's embrace, his thin fingers digging uncomfortably into Rose's hips. She didn't care 'cause she had her Doctor back.

Breathing in deeply, Rose caught a whiff of something like cinnamon, sweat, and musk, all her Doctor, and turned her head to breathe in deeper. Her eyes fluttered as she moved her arms back around to cradle the Doctor's head closer to her. The Doctor rewarded her efforts by breathing deeply himself and nuzzling in nearer her neck. Rose smiled contentedly; until her eyes found the empty bed. She started fiercely, eliciting a protesting moan from the Doctor.

"The Rose-drug is gone."

"Hmm?" The sound was little more than a cursory acknowledgment, the Doctor more concerned with softly caressing Rose's neck with the tip of his nose. When Rose's comment registered, however, he merely commented lazily, "Oh, once my mind came back to me, the narcotics ceased to have any influence, thus the illusion dissipated."

Rose couldn't drag her eyes away from the previously occupied spot, her hands almost unconsciously moving over the Doctor's back comfortingly. It hit her, suddenly, that they were smack in the middle of enemy territory, having a reunion that should really wait until they were safe inside Ghengis Khan-approved doors. She kissed the Doctor's neck, decisively, and said, "Right. Let's get you dressed and us outta here. No tellin' when the parasites'll come, yeah?"

"Why didn't I think of that?" The Doctor pulled his head back, bed head framing his pale face, and stared at Rose as if it was entirely her fault his mind had betrayed him. She smiled fondly and stroked his pouting bottom lip with her thumb.

"'Cause you're really kind of out of it, yeah?"

Eyes wide, freckles glaring, the Doctor merely nodded submissively before he started jerkily looking around for his shirts. An attempt at reaching them nearly resulted with him flat on his face, but Rose had gotten quicker in their years apart and caught him deftly, saying, "Whoa! Hold on there, Doctor. You jus' stay there, lean against the wall like that, yeah. I'll get 'em."

She carefully made sure her precious cargo was safely propped before she hesitantly let go. Moving slowly, so as to catch him if he fell, she turned, keeping one eye on the fatigued alien in her care, the other searching out his missing suit-pieces. It took a few minutes to find them in the dark and using only one eye and hand, but once they were in her possession she turned back to the Doctor.

Rose was assembling the shirts into some kind of wield-able order when the Doctor sluggishly reached for them, forgetting about his trousers in the process. With nothing to hold them up, they sagged, catching on his privates obscenely. His eyes widened adorably and his face flushed. Rose was surprised he still had enough energy in his body for all the blood that flooded his face. Smiling, she cupped both his hands in hers, turned them over and kissed each palm reverently.

"Let me, yeah?"

The Doctor nodded slowly, his palms rubbing together wonderingly where she'd kissed him. His eyes never left her as she set his shirts and jacket down on a bench that protruded from the wall. No doubt for more unfortunate victims to get sexed up by seemingly unattainable dreams, Rose thought acerbically. This den was nothing but cruel exploitation and as soon as she got her Doctor back to health, they were so gonna take these narcotic-dealing, parasitic voyeurs down. In such a hard way.

Shaking her head, Rose got back to the present, feeling the Doctor's intense brown eyes following her hands as she reached for his sagging pants. She ran her fingers softly over the stretched elastic, feeling the Doctor's stomach tremble as the backs of her fingers grazed his skin like a ghost, raising the hairs in their wake. He sucked in his breath and she watched lovingly as his previously wilted erection tented his underpants just slightly; he was, after all, preternaturally drained.

Pulling up his boxer-briefs and rolling the tops down so they'd grip and stay up, Rose commented lightly, "Funny, always thought you were a tighty-whitey kinda man."

The Doctor huffed a laugh, the sound coming out strangled and dry. Rose reached up quickly and rubbed his throat, shushing him, before she went back to her task. His trouser closures came next and it took a bit for her to figure out they were eye-and-hook to the left. She zipped him up, knuckles brushing his front and sending thrills through her body, and his by the sound of it, and then she hooked the little eyelets.

"I'd always wondered how your trousers were done up, you know? They never seemed to have obvious bits. Least these blue 'uns have an apparent zip."

Job complete, Rose fondled the waistband of the new suit.

"You changed colors on me," she whispered softly.

The Doctor summoned enough energy from some sort of reserve and hooked Rose under the chin, lifting her gaze back to his. His thumb gripped just below her lips, rubbing in circles as he explained, "In many cultures, blue is for mourning."

Tears once again stung Rose's eyes and she blinked furiously. She was angry at herself, bringing such sad things to such a wonderful reunion and she sniffed in effort to hold them at bay. This time, it was the Doctor shushing her, his efforts strained but heartfelt. Rose smiled guiltily, removing his hand and setting it gently at his side before she grabbed his shirts.

"Well then, much as I like the color on you, there will be no more blue once we get back to the TARDIS, yeah?"

A slight, thready chuckle reverberated in the Doctor's too-thin chest.

"Yes, ma'am."

He raised his hand pectoral height and flicked a three fingered salute. Rose grinned wolfishly as she turned the dark blue Henley outside out.

"And don't you forget it."

Rose slipped the material over both arms, aligned them with the arm holes and pulled the shirt up until his hands hit the wrist holes. She yanked just a bit to get the Doctor's hands through and then encouraged the Doctor to duck his head so she could pull it over and then down his torso. Her breathing sped up as she smoothed the fabric down his front and back; something about dressing the man she loved was incredibly erotic. The Doctor seemed to think so too as he suddenly attached his mouth to her neck like a leech and started sucking with vigor. Rose giggled huskily. Despite the circumstances, she hadn't felt like a teenager in too long. Since the army of ghosts and a new dad and a new reality, in any case. It felt… "Wonderful."

"Ummhmm."

The magnificent head of hair tickled her cheek as the Doctor nodded his head in agreement, still suckling. Rose couldn't stop her giggles as she attempted to wrestle the other blue-tinted shirt onto the Doctor's form over suddenly active limbs. It seemed to Rose that he'd somehow sprouted at least three pair more, they were everywhere at once. But as soon as the energy burst came, it waned, his breathing a little more labored, puffing exaggeratedly against the wet spot on her neck and his arms falling to his sides again.

As Rose finally corralled his arms into the shirt and pulled it up to his shoulders he asked, "Just exactly how long've I been here, Rose? I'm out of reserves and that's… saying a lot for a Time Lord. We've got superior…" His hand wiggled about for a few seconds, finishing what his mouth couldn't.

Rose paused for a moment and ducked a bit to look into the Doctor's concerned eyes. "You've been here 'bout two weeks."

An uncomprehending look settled on the Doctor's face, as if he couldn't believe the passage of time that had taken place. For once, he had no smart-ass comment to offer, either. That more than anything worried Rose. She smiled in reassurance and stroked his cheek before turning back to his buttons. One by one, she buttoned them up, quickly as possible, until two were left undone at the top. He never liked to be strangled. She grabbed the tie and couldn't resist a tender smile.

"It's my favorite red swirly tie."

The Doctor's answer was matter-of-fact, like there could be no other answer in the universe. "Of course."

She looped it about his neck and slid the knot up, but not perfectly, never perfectly. The slimmer bit in the back poked out the side a wee, like the Doctor always managed, and then she helped him slide on the jacket. She buttoned the middle two buttons and couldn't help but comment.

"You do know that now I know you can wear other suits without explodin', I'll be buyin' you some new ones. Not that I don't adore the brown, but jus' for a change of pace at times."

The Doctor snorted. "Women and their… need for decoration."

Rose smirked and playfully swatted his bum as she looped his arm around her shoulder, one of hers holding his and the other securing around his waist.

"Hush you."

He sent her a wan smile and Rose beamed back, hiding her mounting worry behind bravado she'd perfected in Pete's World. If he wasn't so bloody tired, the Doctor would have called her on it. That scared Rose. She didn't exactly understand how these creatures drained their victims, but she did know, through eavesdropping, that the energy drain eventually resulted in death. The Doctor, no matter the version, trying to protect her as always, had conveniently neglected to tell her that. He'd just said she had to hurry.

The Doctor, with his admittedly superior energy reserves, was almost depleted and the thought that she'd been too late niggled at the back of Rose's mind.

With the Doctor leaning heavily against her, it was difficult for Rose to move as quickly as she wanted to, but move she did. She was stronger now, even more so than she'd been when traveling with the Doctor and it made carrying another being, almost complete dead weight, much easier. That was about the only thing she could think of that made being in Pete's World bearable. That she was fitter now, able to carry the Doctor when he couldn't go on any longer.

As she maneuvered through the throngs of poor wretches, Rose thought perhaps it was an ungrateful thought to have towards her mum and the man who'd accepted her as his daughter, but there it was. She'd never attempted to make a life for herself there, already and always planning to escape the moment a way became available. Like she'd once said to her Doctor and again to version five, everyone leaves home in the end.

Their progress was slow, impeded by flailing limbs and deep-sunk carpet and Rose was beginning to worry about the parasites. They'd have been alerted by now to the Doctor's freeing himself from the narcotics and had to have sent some henchmen down to see what the problem was. She hoped it wasn't more Rastroloffs, fast as they were. She'd not be able to protect the Doctor and fight them off. Her only hope, really, was that the Doctor was right and the den was reserved for the parasites themselves. Sluggish species they are, and Rose'd hear them coming before she even saw or smelled them.

The Doctor clung onto her as they lurched their way to the spiral staircase and Rose wondered how she was going to fit two bodies up the tightly packed space. It was better than worrying that the Doctor's energy was too low, that they were too far away from the TARDIS, that his breathing was becoming more labored with every second.

As if he was reading her mind, and after such a long time apart she wouldn't put it past him, the Doctor commented, "Oh, I'm… fine. 'S'just… just the energy drain catching up with me."

He let out that adorable giggle-squeak Rose loved so much and then swayed, nearly toppling the two of them into the hard steps underneath them.

"Whoa, Doctor. Careful. Here, lean against the wall an' I'll sor' of — drag you."

The Doctor did as Rose asked, leaning quite heavily against the rough hewed wall. Rose secured her arms around the Doctor and, using the structure behind him as leverage, heaved the deceptively heavy body step by step up the stairs. It wasn't dignified or in any way other than messy, but finally, Rose reached the top step, breath wheezing out her lungs and sweat drenching her entire upper body.

The Doctor swayed again, landing nose first into her clammy neck. Before she could re-situate him, he took a deep breath and mumbled, "Smell sooo good. Missed you."

Rose smiled fondly, then winced. Apparently the Doctor's superior genetics extended to olfactory. As Rose did the old heave ho out the door, she wondered what else the Doctor had been able to smell of her bodily functions. She shivered in 'ick' and decided that it was only creepy if she didn't know the Doctor. She was so sticking to that.

By the time Rose'd gotten them out the door and into the decidedly cooler alley, the suns had set and dark had fallen. Expelling a forceful breath of relief, Rose propped the almost entirely unconscious Doctor against the side of her body, entwining her left arm around his waist and hooking that hand into his waistband, bunching the material tightly within her grasp. Nodding to herself, Rose then curled her left foot behind the Doctor's right and took a step with her free leg. Then she pitched forward with her left, moving the Doctor's foot with her own. Even slower going and Rose cautiously glanced around for any more Rastroloffs. Just the one, still knocked out and left heedlessly lying on the side of the street.

This place is so lovely. Really, the Doctor and I should have our honeymoon here, Rose thought sarcastically.

What felt like hours passed, but Rose knew had only been a few minutes, when she leaned against a building to catch her rapidly fleeing breath. The Doctor's completely unconscious and unfairly heavy noggin had banged uncomfortably against the side of her head and shoulder, leaving definite bruising.

She was starting to think that maybe she should have accepted that Jones woman's help. But just as that thought and the Doctor's dead weight and Rose's own wet noodle legs nearly took them both down into the muck, a familiar head of golden hair ducked beneath the Doctor's free arm, catching the extra mass and allowing Rose to regain her footing.

Without looking, she commented, "Thought you weren't s'posed to be helpin' me this part."

A dry chuckle, different but still oh so familiar to her own version's, caressed her ears. "I couldn't very well leave my best girl to wallow in the waste like a pig, now could I?"

"Tegan and Nyssa won't like hearing you talk like that." Even though she knew it was an echo of the future that encouraged 5, it still warmed Rose to the core to know that he thought that of her, even with his own bevy of beauties to think of. Smugly she thought, So I can be petty, sue me.

"What they don't know won't hurt them." His lighthearted comeback was quickly followed by a heavily whispered, "I won't remember you anyway." Her heart hurt all the more at the further breaking of the Doctor's two. At the rate she was going, she was starting to think she was bad news to the man.

With the Doctor helping her haul himself to the awaiting TARDIS, her treasured burden was safely tucked inside almost before she even knew it. As the Doctor leaned his older self against a coral strut, Rose commented, "If I hadn't of known better, I'd say you used your speedin' up time trick."

The fifth Doctor grinned, all shark-like, and waggled his brows. "I have no idea to what you refer, my girl. No. Idea." With that a quick kiss blown her direction, the Doctor jaunted down the ramp and out the door, whistling a merry tune. Rose watched, laughter ringing out at her silly man's antics.

A puff of breath at her neck and a groaned, "No fair… flirting with me when I'm not even conscious," sent a bolt of pure ecstasy through Rose's veins and she turned her head to her own Doctor. Her grin covered her entire face, her tongue sticking out to press against her teeth as she noticed the joyful, albeit strained, smile spread across her Doctor's face. She kissed him quickly on the nose before replying.

"Can't help it. You're just so flirtable in any body."

The Doctor let out a slightly stronger chuckle and then attempted to get his feet under him. It worked a bit, but he was still unsteady, so Rose kept her arms about his waist. The Doctor's hands clutched hers as he murmured, "Missed this, you, yours about me. 'S'where they should have always been." Rose grinned as he completed almost shyly, "In a sexy capacity, too."

He giggled squeakily as Rose shook her head and whispered, "I knew it! All that time…"

They moved more smoothly down the hall, with the Doctor awake and seemingly in better condition, "It's the TARDIS, the atmosphere," the Doctor explained indistinctly, free hand waving about like a crazy helicopter. When they came to the juncture where both hers and the Doctor's doors resided, right across the hall from each other, she stopped to blink. Her door was gone. And the Doctor's looked a little pink about the grains.

His mouth was so close to her ear, Rose could feel his lips brush hers when the Doctor babbled, "She must have… sensed a change?"

The words, going high on question and revealing the Doctor's deep-seated insecurity, prompted Rose to scoff, "Yeah, 'cause I molest ev'ryone I rescue, Doctor. Didn't you no'ice?"

The Doctor released a relieved breath and accused gently, "Cheeky! What have they been letting you up to, in Pete's World, to get so uppity?"

Rose giggled as he nuzzled her ear and she tried, and failed, to open his - their door.

"Here, let me help you."

He whispered it like a sex-kitten and Rose released a full belly laugh. His arms went around her waist, ostensibly to grab the door handle. Rose was wise to his real intentions, however, when he didn't so much as help her open the door as he used it as leverage to push her into it, half-erect cock pressing into her lower back. He moaned low and twisted his hips, rubbing himself even more into her and Rose keened, her fingers gripping the wood of the door so hard her nails dug grooves into the varnish.

Taking Rose's languid body and appreciative moans as encouragement, the Doctor reached down to her jeans and attempted to unbutton them, hands fumbling and completely missing the mark. It was then that Rose's brain clawed its way out of sexual depravity and into the here and now. Her hands darted down to clasp the Doctor's, stilling them. He made a sound of disappointed protest and Rose skimmed his hands with her fingers, in comfort.

"Doctor, for one, I just rescued you from, essentially, succubi, and for two, Martha Jones could walk around the corner any minute."

The first reason sailed clear over the Doctor's head and he nearly 'pfft!' in response, but the second, the thought of his current companion walking in on them and her subsequent act of the injured wife, sent cold water splashing down his spine. He was so not in the mood for the Martha Jones Show. His body seized up in reaction to that thought and he became, once more, dead weight to Rose as she attempted to move her hands to the double handles. She must have hit directly, or the TARDIS helped, because the two doors went flying open and Rose stumbled in, the Doctor quite literally on her tail.

"Ow." "So sorry!"

Scrambling up as much as he could, the Doctor frantically checked over Rose's injuries, which were, "Non-existent, Doctor! I'm not fragile and you weren't this bad before we got separa'ed!"

"That was when I didn't see you reaching out for me, trying to grab my hand, every time I closed my eyes; when I didn't see you crying your eyes out on a god-forsaken beach, telling me you loved me because it was the last time you'd ever have the chance! Forgive me if I'm a little neurotic!"

Rose pushed herself up onto her elbows, legs splayed between the Doctor's own and eyes finally getting a good view of him. Her eyes stung with tears as she noticed the way he shook, his body vibrating everywhere; the way his eyes darted all over her frantically, like he couldn't get enough of her, like he thought she wasn't there or would disappear the moment he looked away; a puff of smoke on a windy day. Like she was the Rose-drug, only now he was aware, and it both hurt and felt like ecstasy at the same time.

Then it hit her. She couldn't fathom it, but she'd been in a dream-world ever since the Doctor came to get her, like this wasn't real and she herself was just waiting to wake up, to find that she was in bed or asleep at her desk in Torchwood Tower. It dawned, finally, and she cracked. Shattered like she hadn't allowed herself since that day on the beach. Throwing her arms around the Doctor's quaking shoulders, Rose buried her face in the Doctor's neck. A sob punched from her chest like those aliens in that movie Mickey'd made her watch that one time and finally, after two and half years, she fell apart. She crumbled at the edges, let everything that she'd kept bottled up inside out of her. It burst out like the fireworks on Guy Fawkes Day, crackling and sizzling and singeing her edges.

The Doctor clung just as tightly to her, his own eyes tearing as well. They fell from his eyes, little pearls of hurt and hate and grief and relief, fell onto Rose's skin. Each little drop served as a brand, a healing brand that seared into Rose's skin, ran down the slope of her shoulder and followed the line of her clavicle, dripping down her chest. Each little tear of hope and hurt she documented, their path, their destination, counting out the little hurts that were released and healed, one by one, with her loving arms around her Doctor and the Doctor's around his Rose.

Gasping, Rose pulled back, eyes wide in amazement as she stared at the chagrined look on the Doctor's face. He sniffed weakly.

"Sorry, I… I should have asked before I connected our minds, but it — it just happened."

A watery smile spread over Rose's face and she secretly thought she looked a mess Never!, and commented, "I never said nothin' against it. It was won'erful."

A whisper of a thought caressed her mind. Still is?

Rose gazed into those beloved brown eyes and answered, Yeah. A smile brilliant as the sun burst across the Doctor's face and he lurched forward, grabbing Rose to him and wiping his tear tracks off on her shoulder. Laughter bubbled up and spilled out of him and, infectious as always, Rose couldn't help but follow his lead. Like always. Or vice versa. One was leading and the other following or both, it was a round, confusing symbiotic mess that Rose had never bothered to figure out cause it just was and she liked it that way.

The Doctor leaned forward to wrap his arms once more around Rose and she sighed contentedly as his mind as well enfolded her. Silence descended, the two just enjoying being where they belonged, once more and finally and for the first time. Time passed slowly and at once too quickly and even not at all, and Rose giggled to know that her time-sense, or lack thereof, was once again back — or gone.

A moment passed, where Rose had expected an acknowledging chuckle from the Doctor, but all she got was a short, unexpected buzz saw snore and twitch.

"Righ', of course, rest." She whispered it into his hair and was gratified to receive a complacent mewl (of which she knew the Doctor would forever deny making) and a small sound of protest as she shifted, hefting both herself and the Doctor to their feet. He jerked awake, eyes flying open like someone on the inside had yanked and then released the cord tying them shut, his hands grasping Rose's arms desperately.

"I'm not goin' anywhere, Doctor. Jus' gotta get you out of your filthy clothes and int'a bed."

His breathing, which had once more been agitated at his panic, calmed and his eyes shuttered, a lazy, lecherous smile spreading across his face. Rose shook her head, delighted, and released him, certain he'd regained enough energy to stand on his own, and turned to pull the bed covers down.

Thwump!

Twirling in alarm, Rose came face to face with a prone Doctor. She took a few hurried steps to him before it penetrated her mind that he was still smiling and patting the carpet next to him, his eyebrows waggling excitedly on his wan face. He looked, she concluded, altogether ridiculous.

Huffing, arms crossed, and hip cocked, she asked, "What, exactly, is that s'posed to mean?"

The Doctor faltered, his very hair drooping Rose fancied, and questioned, "Am I not doing the come hither stare correctly? I own, it's been an age or nine since I've done it, but I thought it was rather like riding a bicycle."

Rose's lips twitched, but she mastered her urge to laugh because her lovely little alien man looked so down-hearted that she couldn't bear to taunt him. Yet. She settled on shaking her head exasperatedly, hoping to convey her sentiments in this way, but the Doctor, she seemed to have forgotten, was perseverant to the point of annoyance at times, and he struggled to regain his footing. It was to no avail and after a few minutes of grunting and groaning and straining, he gave up, flopping onto his back and looking pathetically in her direction. She raised her eyebrows back. He patted the carpet next to him again and, she wasn't quite certain, but she thought she heard him purr. Despite his exertion, she also distinctly saw a slight tent in his trousers.

Amazed and delighted that he was so doggedly pursuing sex with her, Rose almost, almost gave in. Instead she exclaimed, "You can't even get yourself up, Doctor!"

"I'm half up!"

Shocked, thrilled laughter burst from her at this emphatic proclamation.

"That's not what I meant and you know it, dirty man."

In a small, sad voice, though Rose distinctly heard amusement behind it, he asked, "No sex tonight?"

Releasing a softer laugh, Rose shook her head as she bent to help him stand. "No sex tonight." Dejected, though not disheartened, he sighed and groped Rose's bum as she helped him up.

He wobbled slightly as Rose set him a right, but slapped a hand determinedly against the wall, giving her one of his unique grins, drooped at one side. His shoulders sagged and it seemed to Rose that the surge of renewed energy he'd gotten was fading fast. Nodding decisively, she set to work on his buttons, intending to be brisk and quick.

Despite her concern and wish to get the Doctor to sleep, her hands disobeyed her and slowly undid his buttons, like they couldn't in the opium den. She pushed off his jacket impatiently and went to work on his shirt, her fingers sliding off to the sides to caress and tickle his chest absently. Her breath excited with each button she opened, even though another layer existed between her and skin. It was, if you didn't count the once in the den, the first time she'd ever seen more of him than just his hands and face, and somehow, previously unsexy body parts (or at least not overly sexy) had become her holy grail.

She wondered if his bum could ever hope to live up to her new expectations.

Over shirt undone, she slid her hands slowly down his sides, eliciting a shiver, and grasped the hem of his shirts. Deliberately she pulled them up, skimming against the Doctor's sides ever so gently and delighting in his puffs and moans. As she finally pulled the shirts over his head and let them drop, she received a, "Blimey, Rose, you'll kill a man."

Giggles accompanied her, "Least you'll go happy, yeah?"

"Oh, yessssss…"

She'd yanked the front of his trousers, bringing their fronts together unexpectedly and surprising a hiss out of her man, just so she could have the pleasure of grabbing and squeezing the very squeezable rump she'd coveted for oh so very long now. She smiled her wolfish smile again, tongue flicked out to rest on her teeth, and cuddled his bum once more before she let go and stepped back to release the trousers' catches.

"Cruel, teasing… woman." She laughed and he sent back sheepishly, "Not exactly… Shakespeare, but it'll do in a… pinch."

A quick kiss to the tip of his nose and Rose whispered, "Shakespeare's got nothin' on you, love. Altogether too human for me, you know. Alien phrases I'll never understand will stand me in fine stead, or phrases that'll do in a pinch."

This surprised laughter right out of the Doctor and he was too enchanted once more with Rose. No flirting with ol' Bill were she to meet him, his Rose. Not that he minded Martha flirting; it was, quite truthfully, of no consequence to him with whom she showed preference, as long as it didn't interfere with the mission.

Rose's deft little fingers wriggled into his loosened waistband, both of them, and all thoughts of Martha flew out the window as his best girl yanked both pieces of clothes rather unceremoniously down his body and over his feet. If Rose hadn't showed half so much appreciation for his naked form, he might have felt more embarrassed about only wearing socks that could, quite conceivably, have belonged to Rose if only because they were pink and had 'R' sewn onto each side, and his red trainers.

Rose's eyes lingered once on the socks, her eyes soft and lambent, before tracing up his body and, quite to the Doctor's relief, not mentioning his pilfered items. She smiled in such a way as to strike the Doctor down and his knees trembled. In actuality, he knew it was because he'd need at least 24 hours rest to regain even half what he'd lost, but he was being romantic and was 100% certain that were he in fine fettle, said smile would have made his knees into jelly.

As Rose lowered herself to help the Doctor out of his shoes and socks, her eyes lingered on the Doctor's… anatomy. She couldn't bring herself to call it a cock, too crass, and penis too clinical. Though it was what it was and a mighty fine specimen too. Not overly large, not too small, Rose was delighted to note; average really and an exact replica of a human one. She'd somehow expected… something else. Not tentacles or anything, she's certain she'd notice something like that moving in his trous, but something more alien.

The Doctor's hand trailed over her hair and he asked slightly hesitantly, "Something… wrong? You don't like it? Is it too small? I was rather discouraged this time around you see, as in my previous body, well big ears and all, you know what they say or is it big feet? No matter, as that body'd had big feet too so it all went, but in this body, I believe I was altogether made too modestly, though my own opinion it be as nobody else has actually seen me naked, or have they, who exactly changed me that Christmas, but that's neither here nor there and maybe I could get an enhancement if-"

Rose darted up quickly and kissed the Time Lord firmly, effectively silencing his nervous commentary. "If the Oncoming Babble will let me speak…"

The Doctor nodded, blush high on his cheeks, as he avoided her eyes. Rose grasped his face lovingly and made him look at her straight on as she spoke.

"It's perfect. Never was one for ostentation in a dick, it's all in how it's used, yeah? 'S'jus'… expectin' somethin' a little less human, s'all, what with your constant blathering on of being superior to the human male an' all."

She beamed at him and the Doctor let out the breath he'd been holding, an awkward smile spreading across his face. Rose divested the Doctor of his remaining clothes and then led him to the bed, relieved she didn't have to take quite so much weight as before. She got him settled, the covers pulled up to his chin, before she started undressing herself. The Doctor's eyes widened and his gaze didn't waver as, inch by inch, Rose revealed herself to him.

"Oi, thought we weren't having sex."

A smile drifted on and then off Rose's face as she commented, "We're not. But if you're gonna be naked in bed, so'm I."

The only sounds following that statement was the rustling of material as Rose dropped her leather jacket, shirt, and bra. She cast a glance at the Doctor, only to see his eyes following the lines of her shoulders, tracing her clavicles, and then riveting, quite horn-doggishly, on her breasts. His voice, when he spoke, was hushed reverence.

"Even better than my imagination."

A giggle escaped Rose as she went to work on her trousers. She got them open, the front displaying a lovely scarlet red piece of nothing that made the Doctor's twin hearts stumble, and asked, quite seriously, "Imagine me naked often, Doctor?"

If he'd been in his right mind and not enchanted by the secret places Rose was about to unveil, the Doctor would have thought to hold his tongue.

"Oh, since Cardiff and Dickens, I believe, or, really before, there's a reason Jabe seemed so interested in…" He trailed off as he realized just what, exactly, his treacherous mouth was saying and his eyes darted from Rose's nether regions to her eyes. They sparkled with mirth and flattery, her toothy grin on display proudly. The Doctor couldn't help but return the smile, embarrassment or not.

Rose shimmied out of her remaining layers, giving the Doctor a breathtaking glance of blond at the apex of her thighs, before she gingerly climbed over him, breasts hanging quite temptingly close; and really, the Doctor had never pretended to be close friends with restraint (the ill-advised not-thing with Rose notwithstanding). He shot up and licked the tip of the closest nipple obscenely, slurping and saying, "Hmmm. Magically delicious."

Laughter sputtered out of Rose as she collapsed onto her back next to the Doctor and scooted under the covers. She turned over onto her side and slid in close to him, the Doctor taking this as encouragement and attempting to turn towards her.

"Ah, ah, Doctor. No sex. Rest."

She pushed the Doctor over onto his opposite side, a feat that should have been rather a little harder to do, so the Doctor finally completely acquiesced and settled in for a comfortable sleep. Eyes shut, he breathed deeply as he felt Rose press in close, bare breasts pushed to his shoulders, stomach flat to his back, pussy to his ass, and legs tangled with his own. His cock surged with renewed energy, an energy that didn't reach the rest of him, but that was enough to make sleeping uncomfortable. He shifted once and wiggled down into the mattress, adjusted his legs, wiggled again. Rose's lovely little apex tickled his rear and his passion rose even more.

Before Rose could ask what was wrong, she heard a long, drawn out whine.

"ROOOOOOOOOooooooooooose! My penis won't let me sleep."

Rose snorted before she sobered, the Doctor's accusing eyes on her swiftly as he turned his head.

"It's your fault for being all sexy and naked."

"Well then, it must be my solemn du'y to exhaust your penis, yeah?"

"You are the Royal Penis Exhauster."

They stared at each other a moment before the absurdity of that comment hit them and peals of laughter filled the room and floated throughout the TARDIS. And it was just like old times, Rose thought, only slightly more giddy cause of unexpected gift horses. The hilarity trickled off as the Doctor's and Rose's eyes caught and held and the atmosphere in the room became heavy, sultry. Rose wrapped her arms around the Doctor tighter and raised her right leg to toss over his hips, her cunt rubbing softly against his backside as she whispered, "Lie still."

"Oh," he squeaked.

Rose gave a slow, voluptuous smile, her eyes glinting hypnotically as her hands caressed the Doctor's chest leisurely, her nails periodically scratching through his hair. While the left continued this treatment, the right made its way down to the Doctor's lower belly. It trembled and quaked under Rose's touch. Rose's eyes, diverted to her ministrations, glanced back up at the Doctor's face. His eyes were half-lidded and his bottom lip was kept prisoner by his top teeth, little mewls of pleasure escaping from him every now and then.

It turned Rose on so completely, this power she had over her Doctor, that she feared she'd explode before she even did the same for the Doctor. She rubbed in gentle circles a few times, fingers dipping into the Doctor's belly button teasingly, the result being that he thrust his hips upwards, his whines falling louder. Rose grinned and ducked to place a kiss at the juncture of the Doctor's neck and jaw and then slid her hand south. Her fingers nuzzled through the hair there, searching for that glorious piece of flesh, and when they hit it, Rose grunted and the Doctor keened.

A large hand, manly and quite hairy, flew back to Rose's hip and slithered across to the right side of her bum, gripping it tightly as the Doctor pulled her flush to his ass. Rose squealed as her pussy rubbed against him, her leg falling over his own to graze the bed. There was no space for even air to filter through between them and the idea of their position spurred Rose on. She grasped his hot, velvety cock surely and set up a tight, smooth rhythm that soon had the Doctor humping into her fist.

Pre-come leaked copiously out of the Doctor's tip messily, smearing everywhere as Rose slid up and down, twirled her thumb over the top. His breath came in constant pants, his respiratory bypass seemingly useless as Rose assaulted his sense of touch and smell and hearing over and over again. Her other hand, bored of teasing his chest and nipples, traced its twin's path and maneuvered under the Doctor's narrow hips, possessing his balls.

"Ah-heh!"

Rose panted herself, unable to catch her breath at the erotic display beside and under her. Her hips, feeling slightly neglected, had started their own forward tempo, slapping into the Doctor's bony bum sporadically. She huffed and mewled every time she was lucky enough to hit her swollen clit on one of the Doctor's many angles. The Doctor warbled, his hand pulling Rose into him every time he thrust forward and sweat and sex and musk filled the air.

The wet slick sound of Rose pumping the Doctor, her other hand fondling and rolling his balls, squeezing and caressing them, built up to a crescendo and as the Doctor peaked, he threw his other hand up to Rose's head. His fingers secured there tightly, fusing their minds together and bringing Rose over the precipice with him. Rose gasped and the Doctor shouted and his come splattered onto his stomach, splashed onto his chin. His hips jerked in taut little pumps, Rose's following suit as she clung to the Doctor's back like a limpet, her breath expelling in burning wheezes.

Seconds later, the Doctor stilled and Rose collapsed half atop him. The Doctor's hand, seared to Rose's head for their climax, fell limply to the pillow and his grip on her bum slid in the slick sweat, falling to the side. Air whooshed through their lungs harshly and for the first time in forever, Rose finally knew she was alive. She smiled, hugging close to the Doctor's sweaty shoulder, breathing in his scent, filling her mind and lungs and pores with the man. Her palms glided over his slick body, one rubbing loving circles on his stomach, when she heard a gentle snore.

Leaning over, Rose was met with the Doctor fast asleep, face soft and happy in his repose. Far from being offended, Rose was glad he'd finally got to sleep. He needed it. Her hand gravitated to the Doctor's face, like the negative to his positive, and her index finger stroked soothingly down the slope of his nose and off the tip. He mumbled something, shifted slightly, and then resettled himself. The only difference being that his hands now gripped Rose like before, tightly, possessively… fearfully.

Rose kissed his shoulder lingeringly, rubbed her nose against the curve of it, and then settled back into the sumptuous pillows. Deep red they were, like that Merlot the Doctor'd bought for them after Krop Tor. She couldn't really see the rest of the bedroom and that was quite all right, exploration of a new room falling short behind exploration of her Doctor. Her roaming eyes fell back on her man, soaking every inch of his profile in.

Seeing him again was like rain in the desert, soothing and cool; rejuvenating. She didn't know how long she gazed at him, but eventually, her eyes started to droop. She jerked them open when she realized, not wanting to miss a beat of her Doctor, but the power of exhaustion overruled her. Her eyelids fell closed and her breathing evened out. Her heart rate slowed and she entered into Morpheus' embrace.

"I love you!"

Rose jerked up, heart galloping and eyes wide, as she stared at the Doctor, still fully asleep as he spoke. "Just thought... should know..." He rolled over and burrowed further into the covers, as if he'd never spoken. And perhaps he'd not remember in the morning, but to Rose, it was the most romantic confession of love she'd ever heard. After all, he'd had to tell her so badly he shouted it in his sleep. She slept with a huge grin on her face.

The Doctor watched, mesmerized, as his hands caressed Rose's glowing skin, the water sluicing off her body seductively. Pink tinted soap bubbles trailed sluggishly down her peaches'n'cream complexion only to be swiped away by the Doctor's hands as he drew them down her arms, over her stomach. She undulated, a mewl falling from her pouty lips as he inched his hand down, fingers submerging as they tangled in her pubic hair. Her head thrashed, her wet hair clinging like a sated lover to the Doctor's cheek and neck as he rooted around for her clit, circling it lazily.

Smiling smugly, the Doctor pushed his finger slowly into Rose, his erection twitching against her bum as she moaned plaintively. He stroked inside her leisurely and graced the column of her neck with butterfly kisses, suckling greedily when his lips met the juncture between neck and shoulder.

"Mmm… more, Doctor."

"Of course, darling."

He inserted a second finger, scissoring them carefully. Rose started swiveling her hips, breasts bouncing and bobbing in the bathwater and breath panting from her lips. She was soft and pink and sexy; the Doctor couldn't take it any longer. He withdrew from her body, ignoring her mewl of disappointment and turned her to face him. He raised her up and positioned her, then sank her down onto him.

"Oh, yessss…"

He bucked hard, seating himself balls deep, grinding into Rose. She squealed, his name falling from her lips like a prayer.

"Doctor!"

His hands tightened on her waist, helping her rise and then fall, the slap of their skin muted by the water. Leaning back, the Doctor gazed at Rose, his eyes heavy lidded and lips swollen from his biting them. He watched, enchanted, as Rose lifted her hands, cupping her breasts and squeezing, thumbs petting her nipples rhythmically. The Doctor's eyes widened, his mouth falling open, moaning. His hips bucked faster, harder and Rose keened continuously. Water lapped the sides of the tub, splashing over the rim.

The rougher treatment spurred Rose on and she dropped her breasts, instead grasping her nipples and pinching them, pulling on them and twisting them. They hardened, reddened and the Doctor couldn't take it anymore. He lunged forward, nudging one hand out of the way and latching onto her nipple, suckling aggressively.

"Yes!"

Hips crashed together haphazardly, breathy moans and groans, grunts and mewls echoed around the bathroom. The Doctor lapped at his prize, alternately sucking and biting, leaving faint teeth marks on Rose's breast. Her hips sped up in response, her hands gripping the Doctor's shoulders tightly, nails digging into his skin. The sting of pain brought spice to his pleasure and he rolled, putting Rose beneath him so that he could pound into her harder and faster, Rose's legs wrapping around the Doctor's thin waist.

Rose's hands slid up into the Doctor's hair, gripping and yanking him down to her mouth. Her lips fused to his and her tongue invaded his mouth, lashing at his tongue, tasting him. The Doctor moaned, mouth moving harshly against Rose's as she attempted to inhale him, keep him with her forever.

"Yes… Doctor, yes, yes, yes!"

She came violently, nails drawing blood on his scalp. Her channel squeezed the Doctor's cock and his eyes rolled back, his head falling forward onto Rose's shoulder. His hips bucked once, twice, three times and then he froze as he exploded. His body tightened and then he sagged, a deflated human-shaped balloon, into Rose's arms.

Sweat poured down his forehead and his breath came in heavy pants, his respiratory bypass system overtaxed. Rose hugged him, her hands rubbing gentle circles on his back and her legs framing his thin hips. Her own breath tickled his brow, moving his hair, as she leaned forward to bequeath a loving kiss onto his slick forehead. With her lips pressed to his skin she murmured, "I love you too."

The Doctor smiled and snuggled down into Rose's embrace, shivering slightly. Rose's arms as well pebbled with goose bumps and the Doctor decided it was time to get out. He pulled away and said as much, getting ready to rise and pull Rose with him.

"Oh, no. Not till you've been shaved, Doctor."

His eyebrows shot to his hairline and he reached up to feel his stubbly cheeks. He moved as Rose moved, reclining once again against the back of the tub. Rose swam to the other side of the large tub, grabbed the strop, shaving cream, and brush and then swam back. She straddled the Doctor, settling her bum snugly in his lap.

Giggling, the Doctor felt himself twitch. He wiggled himself up into Rose, but at her sweetly admonishing look, he promised, "All right! I'll attempt to be a good boy."

Rose chuckled as she frothed the cream in its bowl, the brush scritching along the sides. As the Doctor watched her, eyes traveling lovingly over her feminine hands, her luscious tits, her adorably slightly rounded stomach… a groan unleashed from his mouth and his hips bucked almost inadvertently, his cock head snubbing up against her entrance. A moan fell from Rose's lips and she faltered in her prep, hands clenching around the brush and bowl and bum riding down hard.

It was a vicious cycle. The Doctor felt intense pleasure flash through his body, goose flesh rising on his skin, and he gripped Rose's hips, fingers digging so hard into her body that he knew there would be bruises later. A primal, visceral, completely inappropriate satisfaction lanced through his hearts, a satisfaction that his woman would bear his mark so obviously. At least for a time. He ground up slowly, deliberately, eliciting a long, drawn out moan from Rose; the shaving kit nearly fell from her hands.

She jerked, reflexes catching the cream bowl before it emptied onto the Doctor's chest. She wasn't so lucky with the brush and had to fish around for it on the seat. When she raised her head and turned her attention back to the Doctor, her face was all business. Wagging one finger in his face, Rose growled, "Behave!"

Nodding, attempting to keep a straight face, the Doctor forced a pout. Rose's lips twitched, but she ignored him, instead opting to cover the lower half of his face with a liberal layer of shaving cream. As the brush swept across his cheeks, catching slightly on the shadow of hair (he'd always been grateful for his species' slow growing hair), the Doctor gasped lightly. It'd never been so sensual, this activity, but then, he'd never had a woman do it for him.

When his jaw and lower cheeks were covered, Rose set aside the cream and brush and lifted the strop. She smiled lightly and the Doctor reflected it back, complete trust in his eyes.

"Tilt your head back, Doctor."

Doing as she requested, the Doctor breathed out deeply as Rose initiated the first swipe. The only sounds in the room after that were the scraping of the blade and their breathing. Rose carefully maneuvered the Doctor's head as she traced down his jawline and onto his neck. A thrill shivered through the Doctor, something about the trust, on both their parts, much more arousing than he'd ever thought possible. He closed his eyes as Rose ran the blade down the other cheek and onto his throat, neck stretching. Rose's breath hitched. She removed the blade and rinsed it in the water quickly, jerkily, and the Doctor smiled. She was just as affected as he was. The blade passed over his face a few more times, slowly, lovingly, and then Rose rinsed a final time. She grasped his chin and turned the Doctor's face this way and that, making approving 'hmm' noises as she did so.

"All done."

Eyes snapping open, the Doctor took in the vision of Rose above him, face flushed and plump lips even plumper from her teeth, breasts rising and falling with her every harsh breath. Her eyes were dilated so much that they were completely black. They stared at each other, seconds ticked by, and then the Doctor swept Rose into his arms, whooshed out of the tub (water went everywhere and he knew the TARDIS would be annoyed once their happy reunion was over), and ran through to his — their - bed.

Rose bounced with a shriek as the Doctor tossed her onto the bed, but giggled as he launched himself at her, bouncing them nearly off the edge. Growling, the Doctor took control of Rose's lips, nipping and biting, sucking and licking. Especially with the licking. He licked up into her mouth, tongue swiping possessively against the roof, dragging against her teeth, and dancing with her own tongue. He played keep away, making Rose follow his tongue with her own, darting around her mouth. He couldn't keep from laughing, she couldn't stop herself from chuckling; he coaxed her tongue into his mouth and then latched on. He suckled it eagerly, pulling all her taste into his mouth, his body.

Their hands caressed and gripped, Rose's nails digging into the Doctor's back, mewls falling continuously from her throat. The sounds were music to the Doctor's ears, music he never thought he'd ever be able to dance to. But here she was and here they were, dancing. His hearts burst with the power of their connection and without thinking, he reached up to open her mind to his.

"Yes!"

Rose's shout was followed by her flipping them, her body rolling on top of his as she slammed herself onto his arousal. Double pleasure, his and hers, shot through the Doctor's body, zinged up his spine. He bucked, hitting deeper than he had before as Rose bent over him, opening herself up. Their minds swirled together, shouts of ecstasy traded back and forth as their mouths dueled each other. Their hips moved; Rose's circling, circling, circling as the Doctor ground up into her.

Sweat trickled down the sides of his face and Rose's fell with gentle plops onto his chest. Bringing his free hand up, the Doctor splayed it across Rose's back and pulled her down, crushing her breasts between them, in their mix of sweat. Their skin slipped and slid as they undulated and the Doctor felt the euphoria of being everywhere inside his girl. His cock was deep in her womb, pleasuring her, his tongue owning hers, his sweat soaking into her every pore, and his mind sweeping through hers, touching her most intimate places. Nobody knew Rose, nobody would ever know Rose, the way the Doctor was learning her now. That one thought, that one entirely primitive, barbaric, and completely right thought sent the Doctor tumbling off the edge he'd been dancing on. He fell so hard and so fast, his body erupting within Rose's as his hips jerked up, fusing to her entrance and she screamed. Loud and piercing, full of nothing but delight as the Doctor pulled her off the cliff with him.

Her hands clawed the Doctor's chest and the Doctor knew he'd have crescent shaped bruises for weeks. The thought pleased him as his hand fell from Rose's face, his other slipping in the sweat of her back and onto the bed. Rose's head slumped onto his chest and with effort, she burrowed it underneath the Doctor's chin. He wrapped his arms around her body securely, and held her tightly. As their breathing settled and Rose drifted to sleep, the Doctor vowed never to lose Rose again.

Smiling, the Doctor listened to the sounds of the TARDIS as she drifted in the Vortex, as he dropped the tea leaves into the pot to steep. Rose was still asleep, well and truly exhausted from their Olympic sexcapades, but he hoped to awake her with steaming tea, one drip of honey as she preferred, and scones with jam. They'd have to stop off in London for some chips, he remembered, shuddering in revulsion as he recalled Pete's World's version. As he pulled a large platter out of the cupboard, footsteps alerted him to the arrival of Martha. She tended to stomp whereas Rose sort of shuffled.

"Doctor."

Looking up, the Doctor nodded at her.

"Martha, are you all right? Didn't get in to any trouble on Dodge, did you?"

The human doctor shook her head. Concerned at her subdued countenance, the Doctor looked closer. Her eyes were swollen, like she'd been crying, and her lips were turned slightly in a frown.

"Are you going to drop me off back home?"

The Doctor paused for a second and then resumed toasting the scones. He pondered Martha's question. On the one hand, he'd just gotten Rose back and he would like to spend time with her and her alone. On the other, he'd promised to show Martha the universe. Fingers sticky with jam, the Doctor furrowed his brow and stuck them into his mouth, sucking them clean thoroughly. In his peripheral, he caught Martha's longing glance at his lips. On the third hand, he'd only said he'd take Martha on one trip and he'd given her more than that… and on the forth hand, he doesn't want Martha's jealously and snarky comments to make Rose uncomfortable in her own home.

A fond smile darted across the Doctor's face. As if Rose couldn't handle herself.

He glanced back at Martha, saw her long face, and turned his full attention to her, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. He studied her for a while. She was nice, at times, and every once in a while, she was helpful, but the fact is, he shouldn't be made uncomfortable in his own home either. And that's all he's been, since Martha came on board. Uncomfortable. He couldn't even speak about Rose without Martha making a negative reaction and a man should be able to speak about the woman he loves in his own abode. Especially when he'd made it clear that he would never feel romantically toward Martha.

Let's try not to be selfish now, the Doctor thought.

This arrangement wasn't great for Martha either. The fact that he didn't, wouldn't, couldn't love her, while not his fault, was damaging to Martha. He believed that she was probably a very pleasant person when not living in the shadow of a woman who had what she wanted. Then again, she was going to have to get used to not getting every man she wanted because odds to donuts was that she would fall in love with someone else who didn't feel for her back. And if she wanted to be taken seriously, she would have to stop acting like a child who didn't get her way. The Doctor released a breath. He would never say it to her, but he was of the belief that Martha didn't really love him. They hadn't had one of those immediate connections, like he and Rose, that could be called love at first sight, nor did she know him well enough to figure out what to love about him. She'd seemed to change, right after the genetic transfer.

Huffing a slight laugh, the Doctor murmured, "'Was it the kiss that did it? A kiss can do a lot of things.'"*

Martha's eyebrows lifted as her cheeks flushed. The Doctor winced, muttered "Sorry" and looked down. He'd not meant to say that out loud. Closing his eyes and sighing, he looked back up and smiled a sad, apologetic smile.

"I think it's best, not just for myself and Rose, but for you as well, if we parted ways Martha. You seem to think you love me and if your reactions to the mere mention of Rose are anything to go by, well… I'll not have Rose belittled and disgruntled in her own home. As for me, I…"

The Doctor dropped his head and chuckled self-deprecatingly. It'd just occurred to him, why he'd allowed Martha to stay. Does his self-flagellation know no bounds?

He looked up through his lashes at Martha and continued, "As for me, if I'd been in my right mind, I wouldn't have allowed you to travel with me in the first place. Not if you thought that I should belong to you." Martha winced, but the Doctor ignored her pain. She had to hear this and he had to say it.

"I've never, not once until Rose, belonged to someone. I had always liked it that way. I've never before been one for tolerating companions who acted the way you have."

Martha clenched her hands and bit out, "Then why did you with me? Lost your marbles?"

"I'd just lost Rose. For reasons you don't need to know, I never got to tell her I loved her. I'd lost her and she was gone and she didn't know her worth to me. I was punishing myself. It was like, I shouldn't be able to talk about Rose after the way I'd treated her in this body and you were my jailer."

The wince Martha made this time was more like a full body jerk and the Doctor supposed he could have kept that to himself, but it was true and she had asked. He felt it was time to be honest to one another. Silence settled on the room. Martha looked like she was suffocating, but the Doctor, he finally felt like himself again. He had Rose and his self-confidence back.

"Well, I guess that's that then. I'll just… get my things." She strode out the door, like she couldn't get out fast enough, and the Doctor pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing a gusty breath. Then he turned and put the scones in an insulator and skipped to the console room. The sooner he got Martha home, the sooner they could all start to move on. He twirled and jumped around the console, pushing buttons and pulling levers and in no time, he felt the TARDIS settle like a jolt inside Martha's flat.

Timing impeccable, Martha walked through the doorway, small duffel thrown over her shoulder. She sent a wavering smile at the Doctor, but didn't attempt a hug, merely continuing to the front door. As she unlatched and pulled the door open, the Doctor said, "For what it's worth, I am sorry that things happened the way they did."

Martha paused, looked over her shoulder at him. Her smile was a little firmer now, bitter and sad. She opened her mouth and the Doctor steeled himself, somehow knowing she was about to spew something snide. Hurt for hurt.

"'I look a lot prettier when I'm not standing next to Rose.'"*

With that parting shot, she turned on her heel and marched out, slamming the door behind her. The Doctor looked at his hands as he acknowledged that yes, he probably shouldn't have compared Martha to Rose, but his wounds had been fresh, it'd been his first real adventure without her, not counting the Rachnoss, and he'd not been thinking right. He'd be forever sorry that he couldn't treat her as a friend, but she had a hand in this mess too and he wouldn't bear all the blame. So he decided to take that last thought as an acknowledgment that she'd seen the movie or read the book too and move on. If she couldn't, it wasn't his fault.

"Tea's ready."

The Doctor startled, then smiled as Rose moved into the room, wearing nothing but his discarded button-up and carrying a tray full of scones and jam, tea pot and cups. He hurried to take it from her and led her to the jump seat. They snuggled close on the cushion and the Doctor murmured, "I was going to wake you up with kisses and tea."

Smiling gigantically, Rose kissed his cheek lovingly and said, "I was gettin' tired of waitin'."

The Doctor leaned his forehead against Rose's and smiled for all he was worth, staring into his woman's eyes. She rubbed their noses together and he stroked her sides. The tea was cold by the time they got around to drinking it.

* * *

_Doctor Who is not mine, nor do I make any money from my scribblings._


End file.
